No Light, No Light
by DeanOh
Summary: Castiel Novak is a descendant of angels, and in a world full of Marked people and Chosen angels, he's finally received his own gift from God, which he needs to Seal in a small Mediterranean island of Kripke by his sister Anna. What he doesn't expect, though, is a beautiful bartender Dean Winchester, who's all bright smiles, poetic thoughts and bandages on his right arm.
1. Chapter 1

_**AN:** I got the title from Florence and the Machine - No Light No Light. It's an anthem for the fanfic, I guess?_

_Literally, I haven't thought I'd go this far into the DeanCasBigBang challenge, and I did, and here I am, worrying about all of these simple things like spell-check, and continuation, and the fact that my story has been read by so many friends who actually liked it and made me finish it._

_Hey, I finished it! Even got these amazing fanart pieces from this amazing artist who thought No Light, No Light was worthy enough for her talent. Still shocked and eternally grateful. You're brilliant, juke-boxhead (GO GIVE HER SOME LOVE, REBLOG EVERYTHING SHE HAS.)_

_I also want to thank my one and only beta, my best friend, and almost always writing companion, miss Kendra Hinton. My bae, my soul-mate. You're freaking brilliant. (She's the spell-check I was talking about. See, I'm not exactly good at english, since I'm from a small European country you might find mentioned in the story ha. haha. hahah). Thank you, times a thousand._

_Thank you to those four people in Japan, a.k.a my Japan roomies, who read the first draft even though they've never even freaking heard of Destiel, or Supernatural or even slash fiction. Thank you for kicking me awake for the whole of July and telling me that today I have to write 2 k of that gay fic I was writing._

_THANK YOU DCBB MODS. For being wonderful human beings and working hard to make this community fucking amazing._

_And lastly, thank you, reader, for reading until the very end. I love you and you're definitely not an obstacle. You're my light when there's none._

_Hit me up on tumblr: four-ripped-his-clothes-off at tumblr dot com_

* * *

**How it happened**

When angels fell some-thousand years ago, the world had been a horrid place. Wars, blood-boiling hatred and demons taking apart humanity sin by sin, avoiding the inevitable death of Mother Earth and all that God loved and cherished about his creation. It got too far, too fast for God's liking.

He turned to his ever-loved, the children of his mind, true beings of grace and justice. They all bowed to him, satisfied to have received such a mission, while God shed tears for the insanity his children would set out to fix. All in the name of saving God's precious humanity. He granted the mortals with Marks and let his children roam Earth equal to the gifted. Such had been the history of the Marked, and the Chosen.

All changed throughout the years, the Chosen and the Marked mingling with one another, adapting to the new world and the new rules. God had been happy.

The Marked, human beings with gifts from God. The Chosen, God's children bound to Walk the Earth, waiting for God to bless them with powers from their grace.

His creation worked well again.

"I have arrived safely, Mother," Castiel says into his phone, which is dangerously close to dying.

"Good to hear," his mother says like it's nothing, like it doesn't actually matter if he's on the other side of the world. For a second, Castiel's happy that he isn't standing in front of her. Lightens up his mood instantly. "Anna will be awaiting you tomorrow."

"Yes, I know," Castiel says, but it's too late, because he hears foreign beeps against his ear, meaning his mother already hung up on him. It's not the first time she's done it, but it doesn't mean it hurts less after experiencing the same thing all over again.

He holds the phone to his ear like an idiot, and stands in the middle of a very small street next to a tiny souvenir shop with a sleeping clerk inside. Castiel listens to the beeps as he takes the place and the heat in. It's hotter than anything he's ever known in life, and it's mostly because he's still dressed in his business suit, and on top of that, his favorite ragged trench coat. Not a very bright idea, but those were the only clothes he could manage grabbing before he had to go catch his plane. The air sinks heavily in his lungs, the humid oxygen providing anything but relief when settling through his mouth.

In the US, he was used to sitting inside, or driving somewhere to sit inside some more, but here, in the middle of the Mediterranean sea, in some kind of a small island that isn't even visible on the maps, there are no taxis, or cars. Unless you count the bus he took to this town from the airport.

Even for a small island like Kripke, people thrive. No wonder Kripke is considered a great vacation option. Golden beaches, great food, and friendly townspeople. "Cheap hotels! Sightseeing!". Castiel researched for hours and hours before the flight, now feeling like the research went to waste when he forgot the most important thing in the world of traveling; to check the way from the airport to his rented apartment on Google maps. Now, he's probably standing in the middle of nowhere, with a map in his trembling fingers, looking for street names that, apparently, do not exist in small towns or basically in the entirety of Europe.

He looks around for someone his age, maybe someone he wouldn't feel like a complete idiot talking to. The older women and men sit in their comfortable seats outside of cafes, drinking their drinking their coffees in the summer heat. There's a certain wonderful feel about old age, yet when he squints trying to compel himself to find any of those people friendly enough to give him directions, he figures their cold stares are too accusing, too raw for his tastes. Castiel lowers his head so as not to meet anyone's eyes, and moves on. He's heard that Europeans aren't all smiles and giddy laughs. In the States, everybody he knew had an infinite amount of "fake" written all over their curling lips, whereas this town (sadly, his first ever European experience) gives waves of ripe emotion, none of which he is used to.

Castiel passes stores. Houses. More souvenir shops. And then, a bar. The first bar he notices upon rows of tourist attractions, and it looks damn near ancient. He can't be too sure, since upon looking again, he sees huge shiny windows, the wood of the walls polished to perfection and an obscenely big, curvy lettered name on top of the entrance. _The Roadhouse_. He mouths the name, testing it on his tongue. Feels ancient. Fits, he guesses, to the whole vibe of the town.

Right in the corner of the bar, he sees them, two ordinary people doing ordinary chores on an ordinary (but hell hot) day. A blonde girl, who is filling a bucket with what seems to be some kind of detergent, and a man on the tips of his toes, standing next to a window at least half bigger than him. He's shoeless, shirtless and has the skin of gold and warm summer, a picture of healthiness and sturdiness all wrapped up in one man who has the prettiest shoulder blades Castiel has ever seen.

Castiel wipes the sweat off of his forehead, breathes in and is right about to ask for directions when the man turns around, lowers the soaked sponge in his right hand and locks his eyes with Castiel's. Castiel takes it all in - parted plump lips, raised eyebrows and a playful tint in his piercing apple green eyes. So green, in fact, that Castiel finally understands what it's like to fall endlessly in the depths of someone's eye color. They give off this unnatural sense of humble seduction that Castiel's cheeks flare with pink at the thought of standing close to the man.

"Ain't you too hot in that suit of yours?" a feminine voice reaches his ears. Castiel tilts his head in confusion, at the same time dragging his eyes over to the blonde girl, who, apparently, stopped pouring liquid death into the bucket and is now trying to make conversation with him. "Hey, talking to you, strange fella."

"Don't scare him off, Joanna Beth," the man says, his tone annoyed, instantly attracting all of Castiel's living, breathing thought to him and his voice. No way in hell anybody should have a voice as husky as that. It's all kinds of unnerving, a hint of confidence looping around the notes of the man's tone, adding to the already Adonis-like features of his body. Bow legs, ripped stomach and a nicely angled jawbone. It doesn't help Castiel overcome his sudden silence.

"Me?" Castiel finally asks, acknowledging that it is indeed time to speak. He points at himself and tightens the grip on his luggage.

The man rolls his eyes and drops the sponge into the bucket, wipes his hands on his tight blue jeans and walks inside of the bar in a few wide strides. The man wears a tight bandage on his right arm, which is somewhat a weird thing, but Castiel figures it must be some kind of an injury. When he is gone, Castiel already misses the view. The girl, on the other hand, eyes him, but does it with a grin, and walks over with an outstretched hand. Castiel takes a second to assess the situation.

Anna has told him already about how friendly the whole town is. Everyone knows everyone; it's the curse of a small town, especially one where vacation business is the most important money maker. No wonder this girl wants to shake hands. Castiel's new, and how can you not notice a person who is visiting the island when it's not tourist season? Fresh meat, so to say.

Castiel grips the outstretched hand, discretely acknowledging the trails of slow burning power seep through his fingers. He slips the hand out as polite as he can, without alerting the girl, Joanna. Marked, huh.

"As you've probably already guessed, the name's Joanna. But please don't call me that, makes me feel like I'm a tramp with an old lady's name. Jo's fine," she says, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. Castiel gives her a small smile. She's clearly American, since her accent matches his own.

He clears his throat. "My name is Castiel," he says, and Joanna raises an eyebrow. It's not mocking, though.

"Wow, Angel of Thursday, huh? Didn't take you for a Chosen," she says. Jo is all slim curves and sun-bleached hair. She crosses her arms over her chest, and Castiel can see she's proud of herself for knowing.

Castiel takes a moment to gather his thoughts. "Rarely do I get an opportunity to meet a person who knows Chosen names," Castiel says while fidgeting with the handle of his luggage. Jo makes him nervous, but not as nervous as the old ladies and men back at the cafés.

Jo chuckles, this amazingly well-put sound that could set any fire alight. "My buddy Ash is Marked with internet wide angelic knowledge he believes is meant to be shared with anyone close to him," she explains.

"That explains it," Castiel says and earns a wide grin from Jo. He scratches the back of his neck and then waves at the general direction of The Roadhouse entrance. "Was that um, Ash?"

Jo shakes her head, "Nah, the half-naked hunk is Dean," she says, and Castiel has to refrain himself from breaking into a wide smile.

Jo gestures at his trench coat again, wearing an amused expression. "Seriously, man, ain't you too hot? It's gotta be like 30 degrees out."

"Sorry?" Castiel asks after he's looked down on his coat, reminded of the fact that he's practically drowning in his own sweat.

"Uh, the coat?" Jo repeats, but Castiel shakes his head.

"No, 30 degrees? I believe I'm not entirely familiar with European Celsius."

"Oh, so you visiting from the good ol' States?" Jo says.

Castiel furrows his brows and squints a little in confusion. "I'm speaking fluent English, is that hard to tell?" he says.

Jo smiles again. It's so nice seeing a person giving an abundance of smiles to a stranger. "You wouldn't believe how many people in fucking Europe know perfect English. I stopped assuming ages ago. Now I ask before putting my two cents in."

Castiel likes how Jo talks to him as if he's just another regular human being. He likes how Jo's smile quirks up, and eyebrows shoot up and especially how Jo is not afraid of naming him Chosen out loud. He's never been a fan of Marked or regular people, because they all treat him like he's superior or in a higher position. That seems to be the exact opposite of how Jo perceives his kind.

He decides it is now or never.

"Would you mind giving me some directions?" he asks, attempting to appear calm. "I am very lost."

She nods enthusiastically and gestures at the map he's holding, which he quickly hands to her. She moves closer, finds the place they're currently at and circles it with her finger. "This is where we are," she says. "Where do you have to go?"

Castiel gives her the address and it takes about half of a minute for her to find the quickest way to his newly rented apartment. She explains what turns he has to make, describes the places he'll pass in vivid detail, etching the images into Castiel's head. He thanks her, feeling more gratitude than he ever felt for another human being, especially a Marked one, and she just waves it off like it's nothing.

"You can repay me by coming back to the Roadhouse tonight," she says, winking. "We're having a live gig, think you might like it. And the drinks ain't half bad."

Castiel doesn't think he'll come, but he considers anyway. "When?"

"We open at three," she says and checks her wrist watch, which reads 10 am. "But the show starts at 9 pm. I suggest you swing by at 8."

Castiel thanks her again, shakes her hand and starts walking toward the direction Jo pointed at in the first place.

"Hey, Castiel!" he hears. He turns around, halting for a second. Jo smiles the widest smile he's seen throughout their whole conversation and lifts her two fingers up in the sky. "It's 86 Fahrenheit. You know, since you're not so good with Celsius."

He waves back, grinning himself, and moves away from the bar.

Maybe he will come back at 8 pm.

Castiel's apartment looks worn, specks of dust floating in the air and the aura of dread surrounds him with unwanted anger. He knows all of his brothers once lived in the same place. He knows the rumpled, untouched-for-years sheets belonged to Gabriel, to Michael, to Luke, even to Inias - but he still feels somewhat angry. Mother gave him enough money to buy a new apartment and furnish it with anything he'd ever want, but the anger doesn't let him make a move and retrieve his hand from the door handle, so he just stares at the light dancing on dust and fear.

Cas turns a little to nod at the owner of the apartment complex, sees his smile and the owner leaves.

Finally, he can go get rid of these sweat-soaked clothes. Cas shreds himself of his slacks, tie and shirt, tosses them somewhere in the corner, but lays his trench coat carefully on the bed, fixing the rumples swiftly with the brush of his fingers. He feels naked shame even alone in this room, his back tingling with anticipation for tomorrow, and even though Castiel's heart pumps his blood with fear for losing his freedom, he can't help the nagging excitement. He sneakily wonders what his seal will look like. Will it be like Michael's - covering his entire arms in tribal swirls, a pointedly blue shining sign of the Novak family glowing on his right forearm. Or maybe like Gabriel's - just a small one on the back of his neck, this colorful mess of acrylic surrounding the sign.

He wonders if it will hurt.

Luke told him it hurt like hell when he got his - but no wonder. His Chosen mark appointed him with lies and mischief, the only worthy aspects for his career as a politician. Castiel's read that sometimes it depends on the person, whether it hurts or not. He's read about countless seal techniques, met hundreds of Chosen who were blessed with the magic of seals. Mother didn't want him to know about freedom, he understood in his late teens. So here he stands, without a hint of a choice, waiting for Chosen Anna to do her work on his seal. He's happy, of course, that she's going to be the one to work on his seal, but deep inside, in the darkest corner of his wishes and desires, he would have wanted to choose a Chosen Seal maker himself.

Castiel ignores the pile of crumpled clothing in the corner once again, rummages through his luggage to find a towel, shampoo and other hygienic products, steps into the only place in the whole apartment that isn't filled with humidity, and finally breathes easy.

The water hits him in waves of relief, water diluting the sweat and washing away any dirt he acquired through the trip. He scrubs carefully, never forgetting any part of his skin that needs the refreshing flow of water mixed with peach shampoo running down his lean back.

No matter how relaxing the pressure of water is, Castiel still feels as if he's sinking into the ground. His back itches in places he can't reach. His feet hurt. His head is splitting in two. Castiel angrily punches the water pressure back into idle, the water stops, and here he is again, alone in the shower, water dripping from his peach smelling hair. He breathes deeply, open-mouthed, and stares at his toes, noticing the purple-ish color of the blood vessels about to pop from how swollen his feet are. Moving out of the shower, he doesn't even bother to grab a towel, walks into that dust-filled room. From there, it's like a bad slow-motion movie; Castiel falls, making sure he's going to hit his target, those ruffled sheets slowly getting closer and closer until he's face down _in _them, breathing in the scent of a lied-in bed.

It's nothing like home.

But it will do.

The Roadhouse looks alive in the dusky evening, lit up by a thousand flickering lights that remind Castiel so much of Christmas trees, and right there he stops thinking about it because 1) it's stupid, 2) he's about to go inside.

He takes a few steps up, vaguely thinking about green-eyed Dean, and after seven deep breaths, opens the glass doors, listening to the cheers and lively talking echoing through.

The sound gets worse after he steps in. There are so many people here, it nearly punches the air out of his lungs, and for a second there, Castiel needs some space, or _anything_. His eyes nervously shoot from one spot to another, he frantically searches for Jo's face in the crowd of overly happy and overly drunk people. Someone grabs his arm, and Castiel's ready to punch anyone going _near_ him, but in the middle of him raising his slightly clenched knuckle, Jo's smiling face comes into the view. Castiel's heart-rate instantly goes back to normal, his anxiety simmers down to a minimum, and he's able to smile back.

"You made it!" she says into his ear quite loudly. He figures it's alright, since you can never hear anything in this kind of a bar. "I saved you a spot, c'mon."

She grabs his wrist, drags him towards the bar area, all while holding a plate of dirty glasses. Jo's wearing a black dress and a Roadhouse apron, her hair wound in a tight bun. Castiel misses how her hair freely flowed down her shoulders, but he guesses it's a basic bar rule. He takes some time to enjoy how conveniently everything is placed. The tables are easy to navigate, and the pictures on the walls are spectacular. There are at least twenty huge portraits lining up, all of them containing people; some have Jo herself smiling, or drinking, or working, others have an older woman, and a man with a weird mullet haircut playing pool. Castiel subconsciously looks for the green-eyed one, but finds only one. Dean is holding a beer up, smiling with the right side of his lips, this humble, quirky smile, and Castiel instantly wants to see one in action.

He finds it hard to look away, but when Jo impatiently tugs on his hand, he finally glances at her and at the place they've stopped at.

And there, fucking _there_, is the green-eyed Adonis, wearing a AC/DC shirt, knee-cut shorts and Converse, smiling a fully toothy grin at a customer who is holding up two fingers. Dean has a tall glass in his hand, a washing cloth in between, and he's beautiful. His hip is propped up against the bar, the casual stance just so relaxing, and Castiel wishes he could be that particular client who could just _talk _to Dean when he's so unbearably attractive.

"Two shots, comin' right up!" Dean says, glances at Jo, and she nods.

Jo pats Castiel on the shoulder. "Sit here, I'll bring you a beer. You can talk to Dean while I'm gone, today is his night off."

Castiel stands awkwardly for a second, then settles on the seat and tries to ignore the presence of Dean just two little seats away. He wants to _look _at Dean, he wants to observe, but he knows that would be rude. Castiel's a stranger. A Chosen. Why would he ever be allowed to look, much less talk -

"You're the weird trench coat guy," a familiar voice says, and it sounds dangerously close to what Castiel wants to hear right now.

He lifts his eyes up, and Dean's looking at _him_.

Castiel nervously gulps some air down, shuffles on the seat and props his elbows on the counter. "I do not understand what is weird about my coat," he says. Fuck. It sounds as if he's uncomfortable. Get it together, Castiel.

Dean _chuckles_. Oh dear Lord, that sound. "Nah, dude, the coat's fine. Just sayin' it ain't fit for Mediterranean weather."

Castiel gives Dean a small smile. "I am aware. I had to board my flight after being notified I would have to in a few hours. No time for shopping."

Dean's eyebrow quirks up, alongside with his smile doing the picture thing Castiel was dying to see. "Quick decision, yeah? Been there."

Castiel feels bolder somehow, talking to Dean. In the morning, Dean looked like he wanted to murder anyone in his way, and now, he's having a conversation with Castiel like nothing happened. Dean's eyes sparkle in the shallow light of the bar, and Castiel can't hear the loud chatter around him anymore. It's like his whole world started spinning around him and Dean the moment the corner of Dean's lips lifted up.

"Jo said it's your night off?" Castiel asks, praying to God Dean goes on with the conversation.

To Castiel's surprise, Dean pats the other customer's shoulder and moves over to Castiel, sits right next to him and fully turns, looking at Castiel like he is the most interesting person in the entire world. "It is. Actually, this whole is week is my night off. But, since none of these idiots know how to do their job, I come here, have a good time, and help 'em out."

Jo comes back with two beers, sets them in front of them, winks, and leaves.

Dean follows her with his eyes, lifts the beer, sips. Sighs. "Good beer. Try it. European."

Castiel does so, firstly sniffing the weirdly bitter smell of beer. Then, he gives a tiny sip, letting it settle against his tongue, the rich taste overflowing in his mouth, and he unexpectedly moans around it. Dean's eyes widen, but he says nothing. "This is amazing," Castiel manages to get out, even though it's lame, Dean nods enthusiastically.

"Right?" he says, while tipping the beer for a 'Cheers'. "Riiight?! I'm having none of that American shit anymore. I mean, I fucking love American beer, don't misunderstand me, but I'd take some German beer every time."

Castiel clinks his glass with Dean's. "I have heard that German beer is the best in the world. It's awfully strong, though."

"You'll get used to it. We have loads of European beer here. Mostly German, but like, there are so many to choose from."

"What would you recommend after we drink this one?" Castiel asks. After a pause, he adds, "I've only tried wine."

Dean chokes on the beer, setting it down before coughing into his hand dramatically. He stares at Castiel as if he saw a ghost. "Only wine?"

Castiel nods cautiously. "I am not exactly educated in the perks of alcohol," he says and takes a sip of beer again. "This, I could get used to."

Dean shakes his head disapprovingly, but does it with a kind of ease that tells Castiel it's friendly. "Man, you're getting weirder and weirder by the second, but what the hell, who am I to judge," he says. Castiel tilts his head, slightly confused.

"There are many people in the world who do not drink massive amounts of alcohol," Castiel says.

Dean shrugs. "Yeah," he says. "I said I'm not judgin'."

They smile politely at each other, drink some more, and conversation just flows. Castiel doesn't understand this simple concept. He's always had problems talking to other people, his people skills being a little 'rusty'. Talking to his brothers seemed to go fine, but comparing to how breathy it is to talk to Dean, those conversations already feel old and dull. Dean's a beacon of facts, band trivia and endless amounts of pop culture references. It's hard to keep up, and even though Castiel doesn't get at least half of the words Dean's using to describe the entirety of Star Trek, he still revels in the way Dean describes the world of TV shows.

"Dude, you don't know about Star Trek," Dean says, downing his third beer. "You don't know about the glory of Friends. And now you tell _me_ that you have no fucking idea who Harry Potter is?"

Castiel smiles widely, amused by Dean's comical expression. "Is he a famous person?"

Dean lets out a baffled noise, with his eyes wide and mouth agape. "Cas!" he uses the nickname as if he's used it for years, and not just five minutes. Right in the middle of explaining how cool Captain Kirk is, Dean finally asked Castiel for his name. Then, after asking repetitively if the name is real, he decided that it's too long and called him Cas for short. Castiel didn't mind. Dean repeats the name again, "Cas, oh my God, I swear, I am getting you educated on the variety of good things you missed out in life."

"It's not like I didn't watch TV by choice," Castiel explains, having Dean's full attention. "My family has strict regulations against human television."

"Oh yeah, Jo mentioned you're Chosen," Dean says. Their knees are touching, and Castiel has to get all of his will power to not move his leg away by accident. "Can I see your Seal?"

Basic human curiosity. Understandable. "I do not have one yet," Castiel admits. "That is why I am here."

Dean whistles. "Figured something was familiar about you," he says. "You're a Novak, aren't you?"

Castiel sets his glass down and clears his throat. "Correct. How do you -"

Dean's smile is contagious. "Anna Novak," he explains quickly. "She's the only Chosen in this town that does Seals. She did Jo's."

Castiel's curiosity perks up. "Are there a lot of Marked in Kripke?" he asks. "So far I've only felt Jo has one."

Dean's green-eyes come unfocused for a split second, and then he goes back to normal. Huh. He lowers his head down, pats the beer glass absent-mindedly and shrugs. "There are some. Ash, blessed with knowledge. Ellen, blessed with calling out bullshit, I guess? Then there's Charlie, this absolute technology geek. But I gotta tell you, dude, no one here even cares. You take what you get."

"That explains why people are not overly scared of me," Castiel says, relieved.

Dean punches him on the shoulder playfully. "Chosen, Marked, human. Who the fuck cares? Life's too short to be butthurt."

Castiel nods appreciatively, thinking how Marked in the US have always been reluctant to talk to him, in fear of him waving them off. Him being Chosen, the descendant of Angels, had somewhat put him on a pedestal for some people. Most Chosen, like his Mother and Michael, reveled in their power, whereas Castiel liked keeping the fact that he's Chosen to himself. Thankfully, Marked people can't really predict if a person has a gift.

They finish their beers in silence. Only then does Castiel notice that there's live music playing from a small corner of the bar, some guy with a cap strumming an electric guitar. He stares at the guitarist for a long time, and then feels shuffling next to him. Dean is standing up.

"Well, I gotta get going," Dean says, and holds out his hand. Castiel once again sees the bandaged arm. "Nice meeting you."

"I'm very happy for our acquaintance," Castiel says and shakes Dean's hand, which lays so, so warm against his palm. "And the Roadhouse is amazing."

Dean winks at him, earning a deep blush from Castiel. "Come over whenever," he says. "I'm always here. We'll grab a beer or two, reminisce about damn ol' States, yeah?"

"Yeah," Castiel says and that's that.

Dean says goodbye to his co-workers and some of the customers, leaves with a bang, and Castiel is left alone with his half-drunk beer. Well, alone for about three minutes, because then Jo appears out of nowhere, dressed in jeans and a tank top. "Hi," she says.

"Hi," Castiel replies.

"So how was Dean? He was pretty flustered when I told him you were coming."

Castiel coughs out the beer he just downed. "W-what?"

Jo hums contentedly and observes the bar, which is already half-empty of customers, a romantic tune playing from the corner. "Dean has many problems, some of them containing getting the bar ready for the evening. He was super grumpy in the morning, and may have come off as rude, but I swear to you, the guy is fuzzy as a bear inside. It's just that he likes complaining on his days off."

"Why does he come and help, then, if he complains?" Castiel asks.

"Beats me," Jo answers. "Can't stay away for too long. Damn workaholic."

Castiel nods a few times in understanding. They look at some customers, and Castiel thinks that coming here was the best idea. "Hey Jo?"

"Yeah?"

"Would it be alright if I asked you what your Mark is?" Castiel really, _really_ wants to know. It's not every day he gets to talk to a Marked person who doesn't blush or stutter.

Jo smiles at him. "I can read emotions," she says as if it's not even special. As if it doesn't mean that the moment Castiel felt attraction to Dean, she felt it. He's screwed. Jo can probably see it on his face, because she laughs and puts her hand on his shoulder, squeezing. "Don't worry, gosh, I don't go around telling things that are clearly meant to be a secret. I just have my ways of fulfilling some strong emotions."

"But -"

"You had a good time with Dean, right? Isn't that what matters?" she says with a smirk.

Castiel sighs. "You win."

"I won?" Jo claps, cheering. "I am the fucking Queen!"

"You are."

"I'm the fucking _ace_, dude!"

"I do not understand the card reference."

Jo beams at him, smiling so wide it must hurt. After a pause of silence, she retrieves her hand from his shoulder. "You're alright."

"Thank you," Castiel says.

"Come over tomorrow," she says.

"I have an appointment with Anna Novak," Castiel says. Then thinks. "Wait, at 8 pm again?"

Jo stands up, swings her bag over her shoulder. "Nah. Are you free at 3?"

Castiel nods.

"Good. Come here, Dean and I are painting some graffiti on the other side of the Roadhouse. We're gonna need some help."

And that is how Castiel decides that he really, really likes this bar.


	2. Chapter 2

**How it progressed**

Anna's workshop is on the other side of town, and it takes at least an hour of wandering until Castiel finds the only street sign he's seen so far on this island. The day is hot, and Castiel regrets he didn't go shopping before he went to Anna's. He's wearing black slacks, and the least hot shirt he found in his luggage. Still, he's sweating times a million, and he hopes that Anna has air conditioning.

He checks the time, takes a deep breath, and presses the doorbell.

There is a dog barking behind the door, yelps of excitement seeping through, and Castiel doesn't remember mother saying she allowed any pets for Anna to have. Come to think of it, he doesn't even remember if Anna could do Seals for the Marked -

The door opens widely, and a wild, red-haired creature with the seal shining in her eyes and swirls of every color cover her face, smiles at him like it's her birthday. All in all, even though he hasn't seen her in years, and he's never seen the seal on her face before, he can immediately tell it's Anna. His big sister Anna.

She squeals, jumps up and lands in Castiel's already open arms, burying her head in the crook of his neck. He breathes her scent in, this super sweet flowery essence he remembers being her favorite perfume.

"I've missed you," she whispers in his ear, and he squeezes her tighter.

"So have I," he answers.

Anna retreats back, and wipes a few tears away. The little dog is a fur of happiness, wiggling itself around Castiel's legs, so Anna bends down to pick it up, at the same time moving away from the door for Castiel to go in.

He steps inside, and takes it all in.

Anna's house looks nothing like Castiel's apartment. It feels warm, and comfortable, and like... like a _home_. The walls are painted warm colors like peach and baby pink. Pictures upon pictures of seals, of people, and a few of Anna with her brothers. The only one he doesn't see is himself.

Anna sees him watching the pictures and puts down the dog. "We're going to take a picture together once I'm done with your seal," she explains. "It's tradition here."

"I thought you couldn't make Marked seals," Castiel says, not looking at Anna.

She stays silent for a while. "I know. What mother doesn't know can't hurt her, right?"

Castiel sighs. "I understand."

They walk into Anna's office, and she sits in the big seat behind a table filled with sketches, paperwork, and letters. "I just couldn't say no to people here," she says. "If a Marked is born, they have to go to Greece or Italy to make the seal. It costs them too much. With me here, they don't need to worry that much."

Castiel stands next to a window, looking out into Anna's garden. "Anna, I am not mother. I'm actually very happy that you have found your calling."

Anna gives him a small smile and they're silent for a few moments. Then, Castiel moves to sit in front of her and Anna immediately grabs a sketchpad.

"I will need to open up your grace points to find out where your Seal is the strongest," Anna explains. "Then, we will go over designs. We won't be starting today, do not fret, dear brother. My needles will be ready for you tomorrow."

Castiel listens to Anna explain how it's the same as getting tattoos, but sometimes it hurts more because the grace flowing out of Chosen blood stings. She draws some explanation patterns, and then, it's time.

"Okay, you're going to have to stand up, close your eyes and relax. It will hurt a little, I'm sorry. I'll make sure to be quick."

Castiel complies, standing up and trying to relax his sore muscles. He breathes in, breathes out, feels the air around him grow more intense, and he can't help but feel excited. He thinks all about the seals he's seen, thinks about the blue glow in Anna's eyes, how beautiful it looks and how much he wants a seal of his own now that he's here in this island.

Anna puts her hands on him, dragging her fingertips slowly across his shoulder blades. It hurts a little, but not unbearably. He tries to relax even more, and the pain expands with every swift turn of Anna's fingers. They travel to his neck, then to his face, his chest, stomach, legs. The pain grows , and Anna's fingers search faster, press tighter. She doesn't stop until she reaches the bottom of his back, where the pain is so severe, Castiel wants nothing more than to just curl on the floor and breathe.

Anna waits, and Castiel endures, and then it's done. She retrieves her hands, leaving a tingling mess of nerves on Castiel's lower back.

He gulps some air in, turns around and finds a smiling Anna. She bites her lip. "Looks like I'm going to be seeing you for the next seven months or so," she says.

Castiel lifts his eyebrows. "Why? Is something wrong with my seal?"

She shakes her head. "No," she says. "Your grace flows throughout your whole back. It's going to be painful, but worth it."

A thousand thoughts run through Castiel's head. A full back tattoo? Painful? "I'll have to come by every day for seven months? I'm going to die."

Anna laughs. "No, I already told you it's gonna be exactly like a tattoo. It takes a while to finish, and some of the parts need to heal before I can go any further. You'll have plenty of time to have a vacation in between our sessions."

Castiel sighs in relief. "Okay," he says. "Okay. That I can understand. I can do this."

She pats his back, taking away the uncomfortable tingles. "Yes, you can. Now, we have to decide on the design."

She gestures at the small bundle of drawing paper, and they set out to work.

Castiel calls his mother while still looking at a copy of Anna's seal sketch. The beeps go on for a few minutes, until the line connects and his heart hammers against his ribcage.

"How was your meeting with Anna?" she instantly asks. No _hello_, no _how are you_. Straight to the point.

"Good," Castiel answers. "My grace takes over my whole back. It will take at least seven months."

Naomi hums appreciatively. "When will you be able to use your gift?"

"Not until the seal is done," Castiel says. "Anna is afraid that using any of the healing would damage the flow of my grace."

He knows he disappointed her already. He knows, but it still doesn't help when he hears her clearing her throat on the other side of the phone. "Alright. Seven months, and you can work at Zachariah's hospital."

There we go. Now, he has a full-time job, and his life completely depends on Naomi's claw-like business plan. It ruins his good mood, and now the beautiful sketch of wings doesn't seem as beautiful anymore.

"I have to go," Castiel says and he knows that Naomi hung up the moment the words left his mouth. He throws the phone on the bed in his apartment, stares at the sketch one more time and puts it down next to his coat.

He checks the time, seeing it's already past noon, dresses in a new white shirt. He'll go shopping tomorrow. Today it isn't as hot as before, so it'll make do.

The walk to the Roadhouse is breezy, and a few times he has to stop and pet the friendly neighbourhood cats that, apparently, like the attention from anyone who can give it. Castiel loves animals, and cats are no exception, so when a furry little thing meows from the corner of the Roadhouse, he squats down, ready to pet the kitten for hours and hours.

It meows, then purrs, and Castiel forgets how Naomi controls every aspect of his life for a few minutes. It's like she doesn't even exist anymore, and the only thing that he wants to do is pet this cat until it scratches his arm and reminds him that he has places to be.

"What the fuck," he hears from behind. Castiel instantly knows it's Dean, and his heart fails to stay calm. He doesn't turn around, instead bonds with the cat more. "I've tried petting Pearl for years, and she never succumbed. You lay a finger on her, and she purrs? Dude."

Castiel smiles to himself, and scratches behind Pearl's ears.. The feline meows in appreciation. "She meowed at me when I was passing by. I couldn't control myself."

Dean snorts, and then squats down beside him. Pearl hisses, nearly bites Castiel's finger off, and runs away. "I scared her," Dean announces.

"You scared her," Castiel repeats. He lets himself look at Dean once. The green-eyed man looks concentrated as hell, the furrow of his brows insanely attractive to Castiel, so attractive, in fact, that he finds it a bit unsettling. Dean's dressed in a different band shirt today that Castiel finds incomprehensible. Something with Zeppelin? The usual bandage is on his hand, and he's holding a bag of what seems to be art supplies.

Dean meets Castiel's eye. "Didn't think I'd see you so soon after yesterday," he says.

Castiel stands up, and gives a hand to Dean, who grabs it, pulls it and is now fully standing. Castiel notices that Dean is a bit taller than him. "Joanna asked me to come help you with the graffiti?" Castiel makes it a question.

Dean nods, pursing his lips a bit. "Oh, cool. It's a huge-ass piece. Hope you don't mind getting a little dirty."

Castiel looks down at his white shirt. "I didn't bring any replacements for clothing," he says regretfully.

Dean stares him down, and the look is almost predatory. Castiel knows little about how flirting works, but Dean's immediate reactions are so clear and comical, that even Castiel can see that there is something there in Dean's eyes when he gazes upon Castiel's entire body. He feels himself blush. "I can help you with that," Dean says, and Castiel has to refrain himself from gasping out loud. "I have some spare clothes at Ellen's. She lives on the second floor of the Roadhouse." Dean points at the huge windows lining up the walls on top of the bar.

"Ellen?" Castiel asks.

"My boss," Dean says. They start walking around the Roadhouse. "And Jo's mom. One heck of a lady. I've known her since I was like three."

"Would it be rude to ask how long you are living in Kripke?" Castiel tries getting more out of Dean.

"Nah," Dean smiles. "Been four years now. Ain't gettin' any younger, though."

"How old are you?"

"How old do I look?"

Castiel takes it as a chance to stare at Dean longer. "Thirty."

Dean laughs. Laughs so loud, that he has to lean his head back, and grab his stomach. "Oh man! First time anyone gave me less than I actually am."

Castiel doesn't get why it's so funny. "I can keep guessing, if you would like."

"Nah, it's okay. I'm actually thirty five."

"You look younger," Castiel says, and Dean gives him a warm glance, still amused.

"I feel younger," he says. "Ellen keeps telling me that it's because I watch anime or whatnot."

"Oh!" Castiel says. "I know anime. My brother Gabriel has made me watch some a few times."

Dean makes an O shape with his mouth. "Looks like I won't be needing to educate you on Japanese pop culture then."

"Looks like it," Castiel agrees and then sees Jo already working on one of the Roadhouse walls.

Dean quickly jogs over to her, saying hi and handing her the bag of supplies. She notices Castiel and waves him over. He takes some time to ogle Dean's nicely shaped ass, and tunes into the conversation he and Jo are having.

"Charlie gave us the prints," Jo says. "We just need to put it on the wall somehow. Should we make an outline first or something?"

Castiel looks over Jo's shoulder to see a beautiful design of a colorful lion, this geometrically accurate piece that looks perfect on a piece of paper, and when Castiel sneaks a glance at the wall, he thinks it will look great on the Roadhouse too. The only thing that he doesn't get is the fact that this wall is a dead-end, and _no one_ can see the backside of the Roadhouse unless they go there on purpose. So why put a piece of art like this somewhere where it can't be appreciated?

Dean clicks his tongue and crosses his arms on his chest. "How the fuck should I know, I ain't an artist."

"You were the one who had the idea to make a chill zone out here in the first place. I remember it clear as day, you blatantly said you wanted a, quote, _huge ass lion on the backside so that people can admire the work of nature_," Jo says, and Castiel looks around to see that yes, the near-dead-end of the Roadhouse seems like a really good place for an outside bar.

"Hey," Dean points out an accusing finger. "I was drunk. Not my fault Ellen decided that the artsy process of painting the wall fits my personality."

Castiel chuckles and it seems as if they noticed him only then. Jo gestures at Castiel. "That's is the main reason why I asked Castiel to come help."

"The reason?" Castiel asks.

Dean narrows his eyes and looks at Castiel from head to toe. "You're right," he finally says. "He's our artist."

"What do you mean I'm your artist -"

Jo smacks him on the shoulder, hands him a marker and the print. "You paint the outline, we paint the insides."

Castiel opens his mouth to protest again, he's never even tried anything _art _before, much less painting on walls with big brushes and pretty prints. But Dean's standing right _there_, looking at him like a lost, hopeful puppy, and he can't say no. Not to that face.

It hits him that it's only been two days on Kripke, and he's already infatuated with a beautiful man who is probably straight as a ruler, whereas Castiel himself is an accurate circle.

So he sighs and studies the print. "I just have to follow the same lines?"

"Yep," Dean says, and his face lights up like a million suns upon realizing that Castiel will be their art guy. "Hold on, I'm gonna go get the ladder."

He runs off, leaving Castiel holding the print and worrying his hands won't feel like hands when he picks up the marker and starts outlining the print on top of the very real, very solid wall.

Jo huffs out, puts her hands on her hips and prepares for a long battle with the wall. "This'll take a few weeks. I just really hope that this outdoor bar idea pays off, you know? Mom's already worried about the paybills."

Castiel hums. "It should pay off. People love staring at the sky while drinking, don't they?"

"Good point," she says. Castiel watches her lean her head back and it's as if her whole face changes into a spectacular view, this unveiled happiness crossing her lips, eyes, and cheeks. "I can't remember the last time I looked up."

Castiel follows her gaze, and looks up himself, and here it goes. The sky opens up to him like a pretty moving picture. It's weird, this sky. He knows that it's the same sky he's seeing, there's only one Earth, only one blue canvas up there, but here in Kripke the sky looks endless and he doesn't want to look away. Even the clouds smile at him with these wide stripes of white, blending easily with the vivid blue and light grey. He mouths an amazed 'wow', which is followed by a silent agreement from Jo.

She nudges him into sobriety, and he blinks a few times, remembering where he is and what he has to do. "Pucker up, buddy, we're gonna knock ourselves out for the next few hours."

Castiel nods, and thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can paint something as beautiful as the sky on this wall.

His hands are covered in multiple colors, a rainbow of mixed graffiti paint that he was too tired to scrub off yesterday. Anna raises an eyebrow, but doesn't ask what he was doing, so he just settles on the tattoo chair, lets Anna carefully prepare his back for the upcoming pain and thinks that Dean also has the same colorful hands.

"I want you to relax and breathe, alright?" Anna says. "You'll get used to the needle in a few minutes."

He's already relaxed enough. The only thing on his mind right now is the fact that one of Dean's band shirts fit nicely on him, and the paint won't go off no matter how much he tries to wash it out. He likes it better with colors, though. Knowing what put them there makes him giddy with pride.

The first touch of the needle pricks his skin, and he has to quickly remind himself that he's at Anna's, getting the first part of his seal. The pain isn't all too much, except the sheer annoying pricking feeling he's getting when Anna polishes the lines she put on him before. Once again he thinks how amazing it was to outline the lion on the Roadhouse's wall, and how much Dean appreciated the hard work by painting the insides with different colors. Right at seven pm, when Ellen needed more hands on board, Dean had decided that slapping Castiel on the back with his dirty hand was funny, the paint fight happened. Hence the color vomit on Castiel's hands, and the inevitable destruction of Dean's old shirt. Which he's keeping. And wearing. It just looks that cool.

It's nearly seven now, and he has to sit through two hours of tattoo pain, and then he can go to the Roadhouse to look at Jo and Dean, who, amusingly, didn't have time to take off the paint war remnants off of their hands, and have to work with rainbows all over their skin. Castiel met Ellen on his way out, and she seemed like a really nice lady even though she slapped Dean and Jo on their heads right when they crossed the entrance of the Roadhouse. Castiel actually agreed with her on some points. Like, Dean overworking on his days off. Dean, however, pointed out that he has nothing better to do, so Ellen needs to suck it up.

Fuck, the tattoo hurts. Anna makes some touches where his shoulder blades are, and he has to do anything in his power to refrain himself from flinching. It's just outlines, he says to himself. Just like the lion. His seal needs outlines, and then it will hurt less. The struggle lasts less than the amount of good his seal will bring.

He thinks how much it would hurt if he could be as colorful as Dean's hands.

"Hey Anna?" he asks.

Anna drags a line down his back, so slow Castiel thinks she's causing the pain on purpose. It's a dumb thought, but he can't help feeling betrayed by the needle and the worker. It's not that he hates pain, he just hates the fact that he'll have to endure this for seven more months. "Don't move around too much," she says and he can't tell her what he wants to, but he does it anyway. Screw straight lines.

"Can we make the wings full of color?"

The needle stops, and for a few seconds, Castiel thinks that Anna forgot what she was doing. He wants to turn around and look, but the fear of the seal looking bad afterwards stops him. The needle returns after the long pause, surprising Castiel once again. He winces.

"Are you sure Mother will approve of that?"

No, she won't. That's why, as much as Castiel would like to just say 'fuck it' and get a rainbow splash on his back, he stays silent. He doesn't know what makes things so awkward between him and his sister now that he's here. Growing up, Anna and Castiel had been at each other's side every single hour of the day, they even slept in the same bed together whenever a storm threatened their hearts to stop, and now, Castiel just doesn't know his sister anymore. The quiet way his sister deals with the fact that Castiel listens to mother bothers him to no end. Two times she mentioned Mother, and two times it felt as if something punched the air out of Castiel's lungs, causing him to learn how to breathe again by adapting to his surroundings. Which is exactly what he does now. He adapts.

"May I ask who did your seal?" he says when Anna's needle isn't touching his skin. He waits a beat and adds, "Mother never told us when you were leaving."

Anna prepares the needle again, wipes away the excess paint, and draws on his flesh again. "You may," she says it like a joke, but something tells Castiel that there's so much more under the friendly way she's treating him. "Well, the last Chosen Seal maker of Kripke had agreed upon making my Seal, and as Mother wished, I ended up being bound here."

Castiel has read of this already, and it's no wonder Anna talks to him like he knows. Seal makers couldn't leave the place they had their own Seal done. No matter how much Anna wanted to go back home, no matter how much it hurt to leave her family behind, she took the step, got her Seal, and stayed in Kripke.

"Thankfully, Mariana finished my Seal right in time. Two weeks after I got my gift, she died. She even left me her house and all of her equipment. Stop moving."

"I am not moving," Castiel says when Anna lets him take a breath. "Didn't Mother buy you a house of your own?"

Anna's grip of the needle gets tighter, and it hurts more. "It was too spacious," she says. Castiel has to bite his lip to refrain from letting out sounds of discomfort. "I wanted something more like a home, instead of a new place to start over."

He knows the exact feeling, and instead of airing it out loud, instead of comforting Anna and making her feel as if she isn't alone in this kind of a situation (Castiel grimly thinks about his lived-in apartment with no soul in it), he doesn't ask any questions anymore. It doesn't matter how close Castiel and Anna were, it's just not the same now that he's here. The conversation doesn't flow as nice, it doesn't spark the same recognition of the brilliant friendship they used to have, all it does is fill the void they've acquired throughout the years of Castiel being under Mother's foot, and Anna being on her own on an island where people show raw feelings without hesitation or whatnot.

Anna's grip loosens, and Castiel relaxes once again.

But now, when he tries to think of Dean's colorful mess, he can only see his Mother's sour face and he hears the warning bells of his future.

Castiel carefully navigates through the tables and little gatherings of people, uses his left shoulder to pass through, only because his right one doesn't agree with him too well after today's session with Anna. She told him it would be best if he let it simmer, and came back in a week.

He wants to desperately look at the progress in the mirror, to see the first piece done on his own skin, to linger on the black lines hiding away his goose-bumps. It's not chilly inside, though. It's just that the mere thought of the Seal being done makes Castiel anxious and happy at the same time.

One quick glance at the clock on top of the bar counter, and he counts the hours he's spent at Anna's in his head. Two. Enough for him to want a new taste of beer and a look at Dean.

Surprisingly, the seat he last occupied is free, leaving him to sit down, and take in his surroundings. Castiel frantically searches for faces he knows, ignoring the loud chatter and live music blaring in the background. That's the exact moment when he catches the glimpse of blonde hair.

Jo spots him instantly, and gestures at him to wait for a second, so she can wash the glasses of finished beer. She also points at the farthest corner of the bar, where Castiel sees Dean laid back in his chair, holding cards in one hand, and the other lazily splayed over the table, his fingers drumming on top. It's as if Castiel can hear the beat even from where he's sitting. He looks at Dean's opponent, who, actually, looks like the same guy that sang last night. There's a pile of money in between them, and three other people gathered around the table, eyes hungry for some action. A bet, probably.

Jo comes over with a small notebook and a pen. She makes a comical face which makes it even funnier than it actually is, because there's a big blue line on her entire cheek, now a bit smudged, but still visible. "What can I get you today, Roadhouse artist?" she lowers her voice.

Castiel smiles at her, a genuine smile, and shrugs. "Dean said there are a lot of beer choices here. What would you recommend?"

"Volfas Engelman," Jo says right as he finishes the sentence. And with a thick accent. "Dean says it's mediocre, but I think it's amazing. So does the rest of the club."

"German?"

"Nah, Lithuanian. Weird country, but good beer. One of our bartenders was Lithuanian, worked here for two years. The dude was crazy. Beat Dean in a drinking contest like three times. Dean holds his liquor like a champ, but the Lithuanian guy freaking aced it."

Castiel only remembers Lithuania from maps, and that's about how much he knows. Also, what's with the card reference anyway? "Okay, then. One Lithuanian beer, please."

Jo nods and writes it down. "Volfas Engelman," again with the weird accent. "I'm gonna get the same one for Dean once he's done fucking up our customer."

Castiel sneaks a glance at Dean's table, where he only has two cards left in his hand, and the customer looks kind of red in the face. Dean's face shines as much as it shined today after their paint war. Castiel can't help himself but look down at Dean's shirt, which, thankfully, is the same one he wore while painting the wall.

It still has Castiel's hand imprinted on the shoulder.

The game goes on for another three minutes, and once Castiel has two beers placed in front of him, Dean sets down the remaining one card, and lifts his eyes to see the customer's face turn white, the five cards in his hand trembling. Dean says something out loud, grabs the money, and some people slap him on the back. Castiel vaguely understands that Dean won, but what bothers him more is that once the money is in Dean's pocket, Dean waves at his friends, turns fully to the bar, and notices him. The smile he gives is as wide as the Grand Canyon, and Castiel's sure that he shouldn't analyze the smile so thoroughly, mostly because a) it's Dean, and b) it's been only two days.

Dean strides over to him, plops down on the seat, grabs the beer and clinks it with Castiel's. "Stupid foreigner. Doesn't understand English, but I swear to God, I could fucking understand every single swear he used while I was taking his drinking money. Shouldn't'a challenged me."

The easy way Dean talks to him clearly indicates that he noticed Castiel staring. Fuck. "What game did you play?"

"I have no fucking clue," Dean says. "The name is Russian, and I can't even pronounce it."

Castiel finally takes his beer and clinks it to Dean's. Dean raises the glass, takes a sip, furrows his brows. "Oh," he says. "That one mediocre beer."

Castiel tastes it, instantly thinks it's wonderful. "I love it."

Dean rolls his eyes playfully. "Figured. Everyone loves it, and every time I fucking point out that it's mediocre, I'm an asshole."

Castiel smiles to himself, and takes three large gulps. He enjoys the slow burn down his throat more than he should. "Taste is taste," he says. "Opinion is an opinion. You're not an asshole for having an opinion."

Dean snorts into his drink, but seems too pleased with Castiel's answer. Then, Castiel gets an idea.

"Dean?" he asks. "Would you mind showing me any shopping centres around here? I doubt my ability to use a map, and I cannot possibly go around washing the same three pieces of clothing that I own."

To Castiel's surprise, Dean doesn't even blink, doesn't make a pause. "Okay."

"Just like that?" Castiel says. "Wow. I figured you would be at least a little against the idea."

"Nah," Dean answers. Scratches the bandage on his hand. "I need to do a lil' shopping myself. Also, I think you might need a helping hand in picking up clothes that do not turn you into lava this time of the year."

"Good point," Castiel says as he looks down at his borrowed shirt. It's not as hot in the evening, but he fears he won't be able to endure the head any longer in his own dressy clothing. He thanks himself for being smart enough to put on Dean's shirt, even though ruined, but still wearable. Castiel already has a small obsession with the shirt, somewhat fascinating in the way it actually belonged to Dean not even one day ago.

"When are you free?" Dean asks.

"What?" Castiel feels caught, like the thought of the shirt ended up being heard by Dean.

Dean doesn't look like he's bothered. "When do you have time?"

"Oh," Castiel says. "Tomorrow?"

"Yup," Dean says.

"Whenever. My Seal's scheduled for next week, so I am free until Monday."

Dean visibly cringes at the mention of the Seal, so Castiel writes it off as the fear of being tattooed for a Seal. No worries. A lot of people cringe at the word 'Seal'.

"Okay, what about like 10 am?" Dean says, no sign of discomfort on his face. Gone. "After we can go and paint some more of that damn Lion."

The idea of picking up the paint again sends flutters down Castiel's back. He wants to stop thinking so awfully loudly, he wants to strap himself away from these stupid hopeful thoughts, but the way Dean just takes his phone number, clinks his beer with Castiel's and seals their meeting time makes Castiel's whole soul tingle with fresh interest and excitement. Secretly, he wishes the feeling would never stop.

They chat for what seems like hours, about anything and everything, and it's so easy to talk to Dean it makes Castiel want to find out more about Dean the person. Dean never mentions anything vulgar, he talks about his brother a lot and never shuts up about classical rock bands if you give him the chance to not shut up about it. Which Castiel immediately takes upon as his mission. The never ending facts flowing out of Dean's mouth are both fascinating and too much at the same time. Maybe Dean has the Mark of remembering? Maybe he can stash all this information rows upon rows and remember every little detail as easily as breathing?

And that is the only thing that even bothers Castiel. Dean doesn't seem like a person who has a Mark. Castiel can't feel any energy flowing out of Dean, doesn't dare touch Dean's skin to at least make sure he isn't Marked. Castiel does it again. Adapts. Pretends he doesn't want to know.


	3. Chapter 3

**How it stuck**

It's been two weeks of Castiel hanging out with Dean and in between those days, two times he had to endure Anna's needle. The tattoo looks distorted, the places with black lines red around the edges and it hurts like a bitch when he has to walk around in town, or help paint the Lion. The fabric of his new clothes brush against the sensitive skin whenever he moves, but he's too engrossed in wearing the clothes he and Dean picked out on their day out in the shopping centre.

It was stupidly easy to find the centre, as it was not even five minutes away from the Roadhouse, but who was Castiel to complain about Dean pitching in and showing him around? After two hours of scouting shops, they returned to the Roadhouse, grabbed the paint and finished some of the Lion alone, until Jo brought a bright red-headed girl called Charlie, who instantly made a great impression and helped polish the insides of the Lion even more.

Two weeks, and Castiel already wanted to stay on this island for as long as he could.

Now, he opens the door to the Roadhouse, finds it crowded and winces at the fabric against the new part of his tattoo. Dean's working again, meaning Castiel heads straight to the bar, where Dean's sitting on top of the counter, positioned perfectly for pouring beer out of four taps placed on both sides. Castiel's the first to wave, and Dean answers with a full-hearted wave of his own. Jo's week off starts today, so Castiel doesn't think he'll see her in the bar, but on the contrary, Jo's sitting right in front of the counter, at least close enough to be able to talk to Charlie, who is handling the whole alcohol business behind Dean.

"Cas!" Dean shouts over the loud music and grabs one of the glasses, pours some Lithuanian beer and places it next to his thigh. "Got your favorite!"

Castiel approaches his new friends, settles on the empty seat next to Dean's right leg, and tastes the beer he's come to loving so fast. "This is horrible," he says. "I have to treat the tattoo lines with cream, but I'm not able to reach a few places. I had to ask my landlord today, and he's not one of the brightest when it comes to Seal making."

Dean hums while fulfilling a request for beer from Charlie. "How long will it take anyway?" he asks, fills the whole glass, hands it to Charlie. "Lucky Anna's young. Ain't dangerous."

Castiel drinks while nodding. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to her," he says.

Dean lowers his head a bit, his eyes turn into something a bit colder than his usual cheery reaction. "Yup. Mark of Cain and all that."

"Doesn't that happen only if you finish the Seal with another Seal maker?" Castiel asks. The topic steers into a minefield, especially how the holders of the Cain mark are somewhat of a taboo in this society. If a Mark holder finishes his or her Mark with another Sealer, they immediately become unfeeling creatures, most manipulative beings in the entire existence of Earth itself. Castiel has heard that the disorder was called the Wrath of Cain. "I wouldn't do that. I couldn't bear being one of those monsters."

Dean scratches absent-mindedly at the bandage on his arm. "Yeah," he says. Pours some more beer. "Yeah, I guess."

Castiel stretches, avoiding hurting the newest place Anna tattooed, and finishes his beer. Dean hands him another. Over these two weeks, they've developed some kind of a routine together. Castiel comes to the bar every day, no matter what. Sometimes it's because he and Dean want to work on the Lion some more, sometimes because Dean is bored in the bar and needs some company, and sometimes because Castiel just can't steer away from his new friends for too long. It's been similar to a dream, all of this. He planned on going sightseeing before he came to the island, he planned all of these things that seemed adventurous, that looked interesting or whatever, but now the only thing he's doing is staying up late with Dean, Jo, Charlie and Ellen, coming back home at three am and sleeping until eleven. Two weeks of this and he's never felt more alive.

Three more pass, and Castiel enters the Roadhouse after another long session with Anna. She's started putting some detail into the tattoo, and for once, his back tingles with less pain than before.

What he finds in the Roadhouse, though, is complete chaos.

Ellen is on the phone, frantically speaking while Jo is arguing with Dean, who seems to gesture around too much, scaring off the customers. Castiel approaches them with caution, curious, yet slightly afraid.

"What do you mean I can't just go see her?" Dean lowers his angry voice. He notices Castiel, nods, then goes back to throwing daggers at Jo. "It's my responsibility."

Jo drags a palm down her face. "Dude, it's not your responsibility, she tripped because some idiot managed pouring his beer on the ground instead of his mouth."

Dean once again looks at Castiel, and he rolls his eyes. "Charlie broke her leg," he explains. "I wanna go to the hospital to see how I can help, but these two," he gestures at Ellen and Jo, "won't let me."

Ellen covers the phone, glares at Dean. "We don't have anyone to cover up for you, idiot. I've been calling around, but no one's free."

They start bickering back and forth, and Castiel raises his hand, hovers over them, tries to butt in, but nothing helps.

Finally, after getting a little pissed that no one cares he's here, he curls his hand into a fist, breathes in and brings down his anger by hitting the counter as loud as he can.

Almost everyone stops talking, silence overtakes the Roadhouse, and Dean, Jo and Ellen are staring at Castiel like it's the first time they saw him here.

"I can take the shift," Castiel says. "I've been here long enough to know what beer is where, and how to run the bar."

What he doesn't say is that he learned all of it by ogling Dean day by day.

Dean looks ready to protest, but Ellen stops him. "That's... kind of a great idea."

Jo nods enthusiastically.

Dean glowers at them, but stays silent. Ellen claps him a few times on the back, gives him an empty glass and says, "Budweiser."

Castiel rushes around the counter, finds the right tap, tips the glass, lets some of the foam linger on the bottom and then reverses the flow of the beer. Fills the glass just about right, wipes the excess, hands it to Ellen.

Jo gives him an applause.

"You've got the job for tonight, big boy," Ellen says. Turns to Dean, "You. Go."

Dean's gaze lingers on Castiel for a while, then he nods, runs to the cupboard and returns with his backpack slung on his shoulder. "I'ma leave you to it."

Castiel shoos him away, watches him go, and starts his ever first job as a bartender.

It's so hectic, he can barely stop for a breath, but the night passes away with no incident (unless you count the fact that cougars kept tugging euro bills into his pants), and he's 100 euro richer, happier and Dean comes back right when Castiel's helping Jo clean up the bar.

Ellen climbs down the stairs, holds a pen in between her teeth and studies tonight's expenses.

She notices Dean standing next to Castiel. "How did it go? How's Charlie?"

Dean whews. "She's fine. But she won't be able to work for at least a month. Her leg's pretty bad."

Ellen points at Castiel. He startles. "You. Want a part-time job?"

Dean nudges him with his elbow, and raises his eyebrows a few times. Castiel sighs, grabs the broom again and swipes a few times. "I guess I can't decline."

That's how Dean and Castiel become work partners in crime. And if Castiel brushes hands with Dean sometimes when they're working behind the bar counter and on purpose, it's nobody's business but his.

One of the topics Dean always seems to pitch in into the entirety of their conversations is his big-shot lawyer brother Sam. Or Sammy, as Dean calls him on every opportunity he has. Another one is his baby, the Chevy Impala he left for Sam in the States. Dean keeps bitching about the fact that he cannot bring the Impala here, because a) it's too big for the streets of Kripke, and b) it's nearly impossible in this economy. The last one is how much he wants to teach Castiel various funny references he uses in about ninety percent of his sentences.

Castiel thinks it's all wonderful.

They've finished another shift at the Roadhouse, and Castiel wonders that it'd be great to go back home to sleep because of the early appointment he has at Anna's, but Dean's there, and Dean just poured him some British beer into a glass.

Also, Dean's been on the tips of his toes from early morning.

Once Dean settles next to him on their designated chairs, Castiel clings his beer with Dean's glass. "You seem really happy today," Castiel points out.

Dean wiggles his eyebrows, and his expression already shows that yes, he has something to tell, and yes, it's gonna be awesome.

"So my brother," Dean says.

"Your brother," Castiel repeats.

Dean sips some of the beer, sets the glass down, faces Castiel, moves his shoulders as if to break some of the tension. "I bought tickets for Sam to come here," he says in a rush.

Castiel's eyes widen. "For when?"

"He's coming next week!"

It's hard not to join in with Dean's happiness when Dean is happy. It's like the whole atmosphere changes around him, his eyes become lighter, and the Dean Castiel really likes becomes ten thousand times brighter.

"How long is he staying?" Castiel asks while smiling.

"At least four months," Dean says giddily. He downs his beer, pours another. "I missed him like hell, man, I haven't seen him in maybe two years. We're skyping every day, though."

Castiel thinks that the situation is so different from what he endures with Anna. Once a great friendship, now just dull conversations. His heart aches for a few seconds, but the view of Dean openly enjoying the fact that his brother is visiting from the States changes that feeling into joy.

"He's bringing me American candy," Dean says, eyes dreamily focused on the ceiling. "And pie. I told him to specifically buy some pie from a diner."

Oh, and another thing? Dean loves pie. Therefore, whenever they talk about food, the pie is the number one priority on Dean's list of important things.

The rest of the week passes in a series of preparations for Sam's arrival, food buying, apartment renting, late night drinking and a skype call where Dean introduced Castiel to a very distorted image of Sam on the computer screen. Castiel learns so much about Dean through these days, that he can't help the teenage-ish flutters in his stomach whenever he sees Dean, which is basically every single day now.

Anna doesn't ask that much anymore, she just goes on with her work, sometimes opening her mouth to ask Castiel about the life at home. Castiel feels awkward whenever he comes over, and it's even more awkward after a phone call he receives from his mother, where she goes on and on about his life after he gets the Seal. It's so distressing, that he just aims to forget about his family live whenever he's with Dean. Maybe that's the reason why Dean has become a comforting thought for Castiel. A thought, just a thought. And if Castiel thinks about Dean in the dead of the night, it's an accident as far as Castiel's concerned.

The day Sam arrives is the day when Dean becomes a lunatic and everything pisses him off more than ever before.

"Did you fucking refill the Asahi one?" Dean asks for the tenth time. "Sam loves Asahi."

"Yeah, yeah, the fucking Japanese beer, we all know," Jo groans. "Dude, chill. You're giving me the creeps."

"He's landing in two hours -"

"Which is plenty with all of this -" Jo says, gesturing at the whole bar covered in glitter, balloons and signs which say SAMMY IS HOME in wide cursive. "-to show off. Dean, you son of a bitch, would you please calm your shit. Castiel's gonna have a seizure if you keep this up."

Which is almost true, because whenever Dean is pissed, Castiel does everything to get him un-pissed. That results in Castiel lying on top of the pool table, in the only place Ash sleeps at night, and Castiel has to say, it's quite comfortable.

Castiel raises a hand. "I'm fine," he says.

"He's fine," Dean repeats. "Is Asahi refilled or not?"

Jo lets out a dying whale noise.

Dean makes sure everything's ready before driving down to the airport to pick up Sam, and Castiel is left with Jo, Ellen, Ash and Charlie. It's quiet without Dean, which makes Castiel think Dean's the light of every party. Not that Castiel doesn't like the peace and quiet. He does, but Dean makes living more interesting that it actually is.

"You're gonna love Sam," Ellen says to Castiel. "The boy's a sweetheart. Known him from his diaper days."

"And he's known me since my diaper days," Jo butts in. Ellen wraps her free arm around Jo's shoulders, smiling.

Castiel gulps down some of the tea he brought from the shop. Since they're going to be drinking a lot today, he sticks to the less threat inducing beverages before Sam arrives. "What were Dean's parents like? If it's not too rude to ask. I've just been wondering -"

"It's alright, sweetheart," Ellen says. "Dean's touchy on the subject, ain't he? His momma was a saint. We've been friends for a long time, and when she died we've all been devastated. Dean's old man couldn't take it for long. Drank himself to death, poor man. Other than that, the man was as loyal as a human being can be. Both parents too good for the world. Dean's not an exception."

Jo leans on the counter. "Dean worked his ass off to pay for Sam's studies," she says. "Wouldn't be this good of a life if Dean hadn't helped him."

Castiel's heart jumps around with pride. He doesn't understand why, but something makes him feel protective of Dean, and whenever there's more proof of why Dean's so incredibly good, Castiel can't help feeling the pride swelling in his chest.

"Thank you, Ellen," he says.

Exactly twenty minutes after, Dean opens the doors of the Roadhouse as wide as he can, almost covered in two backpacks, two travel bags and dragging two luggage pieces, screaming, "SAMMY IS HOME."

"It's Sam, jerk." Castiel hears a loud voice from behind and then Dean somehow shuffles in, almost unable to hold all of those things together on his body.

"Bitch," Dean calls out, and then Sam appears on the doorway, which, to Castiel, looks as if a giant has crossed the threshold. Castiel even mouths 'wow' under his breath.

Sam's a gorgeous young man, but when Dean dumps Sam's things in the corner of the Roadhouse, and strides over to the counter with Sam, Castiel cannot physically keep his eyes away from Dean's shining happy face.

Sam says hi to everyone, hugs them, answers so many questions, and then, it's Castiel's turn to say hi.

"Cas!" Sam uses the nickname as if he's used it forever, and Castiel looks at Dean, who looks back with newfound energy. Brother pride. "Nice to see you in 3D."

"3D? I don't understand -"

Dean hits Castiel on the back, laughs. "You and references, man. Gotta teach you all there is to know, still."

"You've been saying that for almost three months, Dean."

"Dean's big on promises he can't keep," Sam jokes, and Castiel instantly likes him. Dean sticks his tongue out. "Seriously dude? What are you, twelve?"

"And a half, Sammy," Dean says, hitting his chest with one fist. "Getting older by the second."

"You've got gray strays on your head back there, bro," Ash says.

"Definitely older," Dean says.

And that's how Castiel meets Dean's younger brother, who, apparently, welcomes Castiel into the big Winchester family.

Cas stares into the water and feels the waves on his skin, and it doesn't matter that he wants to go swimming, because he can't. The salty water of the Mediterranean stings even from the shore, and he's still fully dressed, just tasting the air on his tongue and wishing he could rip everything off, run, dive. His tattoo tingles with simmering heat, almost as if his gift wants to be let out into the wild. Castiel sighs and looks at Dean, who is sitting on the beach next to him, throwing fistfuls of sand toward the sea, but never quite making it.

It's been two months here on Kripke, two months full of beer, tattooing, Dean Winchester and daily hangouts with Dean's brother Sam, which, to say the least, went by in a flash to Castiel,. He's become braver, bolder, and to say the least, his way of speech has changed only because Dean keeps saying he speaks like a textbook. Hence, the little corrections from Dean's part.

"I cannot believe you started a bet including me and my sexuality," Castiel says, and Dean throws another fistful, which just comes back because of the wind and lands on his legs.

"Yeah, but I couldn't just ask, dude," Dean says. "Rude."

"Yes, but -"

"It's yeah, Cas, not yes. Learn proper American."

Castiel sighs. "Yeah," he says and it still feels foreign on his tongue. "Okay, yeah, but a bet?"

The bet went down like this, much to Castiel's horror.

He's already finished his shift at the Roadhouse, and usually after work, all of the would sit down and talk over beer, and just chill. This time, though, Dean is taking a little longer to clean up in the alcohol closet, so Castiel is sitting with Jo, who wants to know more about his romantic affairs.

"How many girls have you been with?" Jo asks.

Castiel thinks. "Two?"

"When was the first time you had sex?" Jo says, seriously looking into his eyes. Ash groans.

"You can't just ask him about his sex life, Jo," Ash says. Jo shushes him.

Castiel remembers being with Balthazar. "When I was 18."

"Was it any good?"

Ash groans again, and Jo slaps him on the back.

"As first times go, it wasn't anything in particular," Castiel says. "He was very gentle though."

Charlie spits out her beer all over the counter. "Wait, he?" Charlie says, her eyes wide.

Castiel looks at all of them, confused. "Yes, I am very much homosexual, I thought it was clear."

"Then why did you tell me you were with two girls?" Jo asks, so surprised she can't speak properly.

"Because I was," Castiel explains. "Until I met my first boyfriend."

"Oh my god," Jo says, and grabs her hair. "Wait, this is just wow. Grand news."

"How is it grand -" Castiel starts, but Jo is already standing and breathing in deeply into her lungs.

"DEAN."

"WHAT." Comes from the cupboard, this muffled sound of Dean.

"YOU OWE ME FIVE EURO."

It doesn't even take a few seconds for Dean to appear with a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hands, and he's staring at Castiel with open bewilderment. "You're fucking gay?" he asks without pausing.

Castiel opens his mouth, obviously unable to understand the situation. "I am. Is that a problem?" he makes it sound like an accusation.

Dean shakes his head, and ruffles through his pockets to get a five. Throws it at Jo, who catches it with a squeal. "It definitely ain't a problem. But I just lost a bet."

"You put a bet on my sexuality." Castiel makes it a statement.

"Kind of. I bet that you're incredibly straight, what with that, uh," Dean says and gestures at the general direction of Castiel. "That hair and that voice. And that face."

Jo laughs, and Ash joins in. Castiel glares at them. "One should not base stereotypes on people," he says angrily.

"For what it's worth, Dean's bisexual," Sam butts in.

The thought sinks in. Castiel looks at Dean for confirmation.

Dean shrugs and smiles. Ducks his head. Goes back to the cupboard. "Sorry for making a bet on you!"

Jo places the five euros in front of Castiel. "We're sorry," she says. "It's just that we didn't want to ask directly."

Castiel pushes back the five to Jo. "It's fine. You could've asked."

"Rude," Jo says.

Castiel throws some sand at Dean and Dean laughs. "Okay, I said I'm sorry, man!"

Castiel lies down on the sand, huffs out some air and looks at the never-ending sky. "You are forgiven," he says. "Although I do not see the reason behind it."

Dean scratches absent-mindedly at his bandage. "It gets boring in Kripke, so we make bets. Usually it's something like which customer will order what. Or sometimes we bet on who will piss off Ellen faster. So it goes."

Castiel turns to see Dean better in the sun. "Do you want to make a bet?" he asks.

Dean smiles at him. "On what?"

"On how I can drink every single drop of that gross beer you ordered."

Dean chokes on his breath. "You will?"

"Yes," Castiel says.

"Yeah," Dean corrects.

"Yeah," Castiel repeats. "I'm gonna drink it, and you're gonna pay a hundred for it."

The following evening Dean gets a fresh 100 euro bill, and Castiel has a date with the toilet for the rest of the shift.

"Beach party!" Dean screams at the top of his lungs, and it looks almost comical how he is carrying two backpacks balanced dangerously on his shoulders, is holding at least three bags full of meat and utensils in his hands and is currently standing more than a few feet away from the whole gang.

"We know, you moron, you don't need to freaking remind us every three seconds," Jo murmurs under her nose. It's probably 5 am, the sun shining briefly through the haze of blue, the silence of this morning seeping through Castiel, and the only thing he wants is to hear Dean scream 'beach party' until it becomes reality.

Castiel's in need of a small vacation, what with the part-time job that actually stayed even when Charlie returned from being one-legged. His mother has become even more annoying over the course of these months, asking for pictures of the Seal, and even calling Anna when Castiel hasn't answered his phone in three days straight.

For some unknown reason, this island is taking its toll on Castiel, making him less fearful, more brave and more rebellious. It's like the whole raw vibe of Kripke has seeped inside of Castiel, and it's making him into a person that everyone thinks him to be.

He feels sleepy under this blue hue sunlight, all of them standing in a U formation around a van, and Castiel can't think anything but the fact the smell of the sea lingers on the seats of the car. Dean throws his bags inside of the van, settles next to Castiel despite the van being full of still free seats, nudges him with his shoulder and screams once more, "BEACH PARTY."

Jo groans, sits in the back, pulls her cap on her eyes and slumps against the back. Ash sits next to her, instantly falling asleep while his mouth is still agape. Charlie joins in with them at the last second, after she makes sure nothing is left behind and they're all ready to eat a lot of meat at Bobby's. Sam takes his seat in the front.

Dean invited him to a little family reunion here at Kripke, something called the Salvage yard, which, thankfully, resides next to the sea, therefore golden beaches and crystal blue water aren't an exception. Dean had already told that Bobby had been the only salvation the two brothers ever had, and even though Dean doesn't like to talk about his parents much, he does like to talk about Bobby and how grumpy the old geezer is. One of the nights Castiel and Dean spent drinking after work, Dean's told the only thing that made Castiel feel like he's involved, like he's been accepted into this huge family. Bobby's been fighting cancer for three years, and it's the thing that makes him grumpy, Dean mentioned.

Castiel finds out about how grumpy a person can be right about when they arrive to Bobby's home, which somehow reminds Castiel more of a holiday house than a Salvage yard. Dean hops out of the car, all giddy with excitement, runs inside of the house without knocking, and Castiel can only help Ellen unpack all of the stuff they brought with them.

"Bobby!" he hears Dean shout, and Ellen gives him a bag full of vegetables, which Dean absolutely refused to buy, saying that 'rabbit food shouldn't be allowed to a barbeque' and Sam insisted that salads are a fundamentally great addition to a food party, therefore, they should not be counted out of the said food party. Castiel agreed full-heartedly, earning a glare from Dean and promises that he won't be getting any Lithuanian beer next week. Not that Castiel's sad about it. The prospect of eating something freshly cooked instead of something from a diner makes Castiel's stomach act out and sing symphonies while he's climbing the stairs up to Bobby's house.

"In here, you damn loud-mouthed idjit," a low voice rumbles through the house. Castiel looks around the walls, all covered in pictures of Sam and Dean, sometimes Bobby himself with the two brothers. It's fascinating enough to distract him from feeling someone creep up behind him.

"Grew up into fine ass men, didn't they?" the same voice asks and Castiel yelps, throwing the bags on the ground.

He starts apologizing, picks up the bags and finally meets Bobby in the flesh. The man has an unshaven beard, a scary expression and an old-beaten hat on his head. But his eyes smile in the way that Dean smiles when he sees Castiel entering the Roadhouse.

"Robert Singer, I presume?" Castiel says.

Bobby waves it off. "I'm Bobby to everyone, ya crunk," he says. "Don't go callin' me Robert, makes me feel old as balls."

Dean reappears in the hallway, looking entirely too winded up. He breathes in deeper. "I started up the grill."

Bobby glares at him. "Already? You just got here, dumb hunk."

Dean strides over to Bobby, and wraps his arms around the smaller man, making him grunt in surprise. "Missed you, old man," he says and claps two times on Bobby's back. "I started the grill because you always bitch about how hard it is to do everything by yourself."

"You know me well," Bobby says.

Dean points at Castiel. "This is Cas, the one I told you about."

"I remember, I ain't that old," Bobby says. "Enough chit-chat, we've got a lot of cooking to do. Cas, you good with meat?"

"I am not sure," Castiel says. "I have never been a part of a barbeque before."

Bobby rolls his eyes. "There's always a first time for e'rything. Get your grill up."

"Get my what up -"

"Castiel doesn't get references," Dean explains.

"Nor do I," Bobby says. Then, pushes Dean down the hallway. "Go now, before I start getting all old on your ass."

Castiel happily follows.

The grill is residing on a patio, and Castiel doesn't look at it, not when the greatest view of the sea opens up to him right when he goes through the back door of Bobby's house. The sea is so blue it hurts his eyes, so he stands there admiring the view for a long while, so long, in fact, that Jo has to come drag him to the table, where everyone's setting up the cold snacks.

Castiel sneaks a glance at Dean, who is carefully placing a batch of steaks on top of the grill, all while talking to Bobby. Bobby is a head smaller than Dean, which makes kind of a amusing when Bobby starts gesturing at the meat and shaking his head as if Dean isn't doing that great of a job. Dean places another piece of steak the way it makes Bobby nod appreciatively instead of acting out because of a small inconvenience of a meat placement.

Castiel helps Sam and Jo prepare the salad, and Jo looks like she slept a little in the car, so she isn't as annoyed as before. Ash helps Ellen with beverages, sometimes shooting some facts about Chosen and Marked, and Castiel pretends he's listening, but he's not. When the wind breezes over his sweaty forehead and when the sea looks like it's going to burst in rainbows, that's when Castiel wants to forget he's getting a Seal, and he wants to forget that everyone is on some kind of a road to help God make the world better. What Castiel wants is just simple days like this, when the world offers him peace and quiet and he can gently add some lettuce to a Caesar salad without his whole family pondering about how much calories it will add to their already perfect bodies.

When the food is nearly done, and there's nothing much to do besides getting a beer from the cooler, Castiel navigates down the patio, gets out of his shoes and hustles his feet in between the sand, feeling it trickle around with a tickling sensation. It's so different from the beach back in the city, the sand feeling like silk against his skin.

He walks down to the water, and the sea today falls in small waves, crashing against each other in playful banters and he takes the luxury of wading in the shallow parts. Castiel likes staring at the bottom, likes noticing all of those Mediterranean fishes and he likes splashing the water around like a child.

Then, his phone starts ringing. He picks up after the third ring.

"Yes?"

"Castiel," his mother says and he has to refrain himself from sighing. Of all days, she has to call him on the one when he feels the calmest he's ever felt.

"Yes, it's indeed me, mother," he says.

"What is with that tone?" Naomi asks. "Nevermind. I talked with Zachariah and he is more than happy to invite you over to his hospital once the Seal is done."

"I got a job here," Castiel says, ignoring the hospital remark. "I'm working as a part-time bartender."

"You...what?"

"I'm also hanging out with a lot of wonderful people right now, and I want to add some color into my Seal so that I can stay here longer, and I'm literally standing in the sea while talking to you and nothing's been more wonderful than it is now," he continues.

"Castiel, I did not call you to hear about this -"

"I also bought clothes that aren't suits," Castiel says over her. "I actually feel alive."

Naomi is silent on the other side of the phone. Castiel waits for a reaction, waits for her to shout at him and make him deal with things the Novak way, but all she does is, "Alright. Good for you, Castiel."

"Thank you," he says, but feels a little betrayed by the fact that his mother is taking this far too easily than he thought she would.

"I shall inform you about Zachariah in a few weeks," she says. "In the mean time, do enjoy this...party of yours."

"Okay," Castiel says. "Bye."

For the first time in his life, instead of sighing, Naomi says, "Good-bye."

Castiel pockets his phone, breathes in the sea smell, watches the sun dance on the waves, turns around and faces Dean, who is holding a bottle of beer and seems to have just gotten here. He holds it out, smiles that one smile where his eyes crinkle and casually strides over to Castiel, ignoring how his jeans get soaked up to his knees.

"Who were you talking to?" Dean asks.

Castiel uncaps the beer, puts the cap in his pocket. "My mother. Told her what I'm up to these days."

"What she say?" Dean says.

"Nothing of import," Castiel says. Dean raises his eyebrow. Castiel rolls his eyes. "Nothing important," he corrects himself.

"Awesome," Dean says. Looks on at the horizon. "This is also awesome. I love this place."

"Me too," Castiel agrees. "I like the sea. It's so big that it makes me feel small, but it adds up to the magnificence of seeing the sea divide up in waves when you're standing in it."

"I know, right?" Dean says. "It's like you're part of the sea that you're not."

"What do you mean by that?" Castiel asks. Sips some beer. "What you just said doesn't make any sense."

"The sea doesn't make sense either," Dean says. "But what I meant was like when we're standing here, surrounded by the salty water of the Mediterranean, we're becoming an obstacle for the water to flow, right? We're making the sea evolve that way. It fights to survive, no matter how big or small the obstacles are. In a way, you're smaller than the sea, but you're that one little problem that the sea has to deal with and it deals with you and it loves you, because it doesn't make you go away. It lets you stay. As a part of it. For as long as you like."

"Wow," Castiel says. "That was almost poetic."

"Shut up," Dean says. Clings his beer with Castiel's. "Your face is poetic."

Castiel smiles at that and they both stand in silence.

Dean's hand brushes against his, like one of those times at the bar, where Castiel doesn't know if it was on purpose or not, and this time, he looks up at Dean, who is looking back at him, and it doesn't feel like Castiel is an obstacle in Dean's way.

And in a way, Castiel understands how poetic one's face can be.

He feels himself go beet red over how long they're staring at each other, when Jo screams for them that the barbeque is done and they should come stuff their faces unless they want the last pieces.

Dean lowers his eyes, tightens the grip on his beer and clears his throat. "Yeah, right. Let's stop being obstacles."

"Right."

They join the table, and Castiel thinks he'd never want to be anywhere else than in this company of completely different people than his family.


	4. Chapter 4

**How it evolved**

The staring, on Castiel's part, gets even more intense over the following weeks of his day by day hanging out with Dean Winchester. His tattoo is coming up beautifully, so naturally, Castiel stands next to a mirror every morning, looks at it over his shoulder, doesn't think about how it's going to look finished because right now, it looks perfect. It reminds him of a fallen angel, and that's what Dean said about the sketch he showed before.

Getting back to the staring, it's as intense as it gets when you're working in close quarters. Castiel works his awkward charm with the customers, of which he now knows most of them, and whenever he looks at Dean, he finds Dean staring back. It's as if everything changed when they were standing together in the sea, like that one look ignited a pathway through their eyes that shouldn't be crossed, but Castiel wants so badly to do so.

One night after their shift, Dean puts the clean glasses down, leans on the countertop. "Wanna watch a movie with me?"

Castiel counts the money in his hands, puts it in a zip up bag, writes the sum down on official papers. "What kind?"

Dean wipes at the counter, does a comical frowny face. "Lord of the Rings would be nice."

"Is it a movie about rings and lords?" Castiel asks.

"It's a movie about uh, friendship and ass-kicking of epic proportions, that's what it is," Dean says. "It's our day off tomorrow, so we can marathon the series in like one sitting. Do you have an appointment with Anna?"

Castiel shakes his head. "Not until next week."

Dean's eyes brighten up, and he throws the cloth he's been holding in the waste basket. "Pack up, buddy, we're going to Mordor."

"Where?"

"Let's just go, Cas, don't spoil the fun for me."

So they go.

It's not the first time Castiel's been in Dean's apartment, but the fact that it's so _lived _in makes it a great experience every time. There are pictures lining up the walls, shelves full of books (fantasy, romance, detective stories, you name it, Dean has it), vinyl boxes next to the windows and an perfectly comfortable sofa in front of a wide flat-screen TV that Castiel has come to love. They've watched countless football matches (which, Dean explained, is called _football_, not soccer in Europe) with the gang, sometimes with pasta take-outs, or pizza parties. The only problem is that this is the first time they're _alone_ in Dean's apartment, and Castiel's feeling ten thousand times more nervous than ever.

"Lemme get some snacks, make yourself at home," Dean says and disappears in his kitchen.

Castiel awkwardly hovers over the coach, then settles on it, leaves his hands in his lap. Stares at the TV aimlessly. Thinks how the hell is he going to get out of this one.

Now, whenever he's alone with Dean, the heat inside of him rises to a boiling point, which leaves him aching for _something_, but he's never sure with Dean. Maybe he's not brave enough.

Dean returns with two big bowls of chips and popcorn, alongside with soda's and water bottles. Places everything on the table in front, quickly arranges the DVD, presses play and falls into place next to Castiel. It occurs to Castiel then, that the sofa is big enough for a large space between them, but Dean's sitting so close their arms are touching.

Castiel sneaks a glance at Dean, but Dean's concentrated on the screen.

"This movie is my favorite movie of all time," Dean says.

"You said the same thing about Schindler's list," Castiel says.

"I've said a lot of things, but this one is the truth," Dean says.

Castiel, too, concentrates on the screen and watches carefully alongside with listening to pieces of trivia that sometimes come from Dean's mouth. Usually, Castiel doesn't like it when a person interrupts the movie by talking, but Dean's not your average person. Whatever Dean says, it catches Castiel's attention, so he remembers the important parts, sometimes asking questions and making Dean happier about the fact that Castiel doesn't really know a thing about pop culture.

It's way past the second part of the trilogy when Castiel dozes off on Dean's shoulder.

Upon waking up, Castiel feels Dean's chest expanding, and when he opens his eyes, watches over what's happening, he sees that his little sleeping fiasco ended up being a cuddle session with _Dean Winchester_.

Castiel wants to move away, to leave Dean be, and forget how embarrassing this turned out to be, but Dean's arms are wrapped around him, and it's warm in a sense when warm is _good_, so he stays there, _adapts_, feels like he's at home when he's actually in the arms of a man he's fallen in love with over his stay at Kripke. Maybe that's home.

"Fuck, I fell asleep at the best part," Dean murmurs somewhere against Castiel's hair, and Castiel tightens his grip on Dean's shirt.

When Castiel doesn't answer anything, Dean moves a little, untangles himself from Castiel and rubs his eyes.

Castiel doesn't know what to do, what to say, how to act, how to feel -

"You want any breakfast?" Dean asks casually, and looks at Castiel, who's never been more confused in his existence.

Castiel nods awkwardly, sits back on the couch and lets Dean do all of the work.

Tries not to freak out over the fact that they were cuddling, and Dean wasn't even _bothered_ by it.

Tries not to, but when they're eating and again, having a stare-off, his heart does hardcore jumps in his chest and he's once again too smitten to care about the casualties of loving Dean Winchester without knowing if Dean even likes him.

A week passes, and it's the middle of the night when Dean climbs through the window, bringing in the neat smell of a workout and freshly cut grass. Castiel sits up in bed, looks at Dean, bewildered, his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage. Dean's golden skin looks illuminated by the streetlights coming from the outside. He moves like a performer, except the fact that his clothes look like they've been dragged through dirt, and Dean has a few black paint slashes on his cheeks.

First thing's first.

"What are you doing here?" Castiel asks, throwing the covers away and standing up. "And, there's a door?"

Dean's eyes rake over Castiel's naked torso, then come back to focus. "The window was open. I'm picking you up in style."

Castiel doesn't even question it anymore. Wherever Dean wants him to go, he goes. He rummages through the pile of clothing, back turned to Dean, and only when Dean takes in a sharp breath Castiel understands that he finally sees the still unfinished tattoo. Castiel pauses for a second, looks back at Dean and waits for accusations, for conclusions, questions, but none come. Dean's eating his back alive with his gaze, the green orbs entirely clouded with interest, it's as if Castiel is the canvas, and his back the million dollar painting. Castiel decides he likes how Dean looks at it. Makes it feel even more special.

He throws on a band shirt, shorts and he's ready.

Dean obviously shakes himself out of this trance. "Okay, right. Let's go."

Castiel is far too curious. "Can I at least know where we're going?"

Dean holds up a hand to wait, climbs over the window and waves at Castiel to follow. Castiel sighs, thinks that there are actual _doors_ they could use, but the way Dean makes everything look like an adventure just adds to the spice of climbing out of the window. So he goes.

Dean's holding up his hands almost gently, and Castiel wants to tell him that he's not a child and he can perfectly well climb down himself as an adult, but Dean's hands are there, they're warm and they're inviting, so the only logical thing to do is to jump down into them. Castiel jumps, lands right in between, and Dean's hands fall on Castiel's waist, gripping not too tightly, just a tiny brush of fingers and heat. Castiel's breath hitches, cheeks flare, but he holds his head down, somewhat embarrassed by his reaction. Dean smells even better up close. It's rainy days, melting ice-cream, musk, autumn. The mix of scents hit a little too close to home, and Castiel wants so badly to wrap his arms around Dean and taste it on his skin.

What he does, though, is retreat, feel how Dean's fingers linger, and then he's not ready to face Dean.

"I've got something to show you," Dean says, breaks the tension between them, and Castiel looks up to find Dean's eyes boring into his. He's wearing the same lopsided smile Castiel absolutely loves, and it makes everything okay.

They start walking in the direction of the beach. "At two AM?" Castiel jokes.

"Yeah, the place is kind of a tourist attraction really," Dean says. "The only thing they don't know is that it looks fantastic at night. Not gonna lie - I don't really want them to find out."

Castel hums in understanding. "So it's your own private place?"

Dean shakes his head. "Not anymore. I'm gonna show it to you, duh."

Castiel's chest expands until he can't breathe, and it's the greatest feeling in the world. His whole skin tingles with the way their hands brush against each other while walking, it sends jolts of electricity throughout his soul, the pure excitement of it too sweet to give up. He thinks maybe it might work, maybe Dean _likes_ him, he does like guys, so why not him? He aches to touch, to kiss, to _feel_ Dean against him. The dream is too real, so Castiel once again hears his mother's harsh words. Bursts the bubble the second he remembers her face.

They walk quite a distance, switching between silence to conversation once in a while. Castiel refuses to look at Dean throughout the whole ordeal, only because he'd a) break or b) confess. It's when Dean's hand stops him from walking, slides down his arm, and Dean's fingers wrap around Castiel's does Castiel look straight at Dean. Unfortunately, this time Dean's eyes are focused only on the small pathway through the hills, and Castiel can see the sea in between.

Dean tugs on Castiel's hand, so they walk. Castiel can't think of anything else.

_Handshandshandshandshandshandshandshandshands_

Dean's skin is magnificently warm in this weather, so Castiel bravely tightens the grip, to which Dean instantly reacts by squeezing back. And, the happy bubble is back again.

After Castiel nearly trips three times, Dean stops abruptly, swings his free hand up and covers Castiel's eyes.

"I can close my eyes, you know, you just need to ask -"

"Shh."

Castiel breathes in, feels the breeze fill his lungs with sweet deliria, and all he remembers is the way Dean's hand moves in his, and how Dean leads him down the path, pointing out the parts he has to climb over.

"Okay," Dean says, lowers his hand. "Open your eyes."

Castiel doesn't need to hear it twice, so he opens his eyes and sees simultaneously the best and the scariest imagine in his entire life.

He's standing on top of a huge sandy cliff, its indigo color visible even in the dead of the night. Short out of breath, Castiel averts his gaze upwards, to the roaring, ruthless sea, the breeze turning into a full force wind that scatters his hair in every direction. He temporarily forgets that he's holding Dean's hand, forgets the heat of the body next to him, forgets his feelings, his future, his family, the Seal. It's him and the sea, and the cliff now. It's all so breathtaking, for a second, he feels utterly free. A second life to discover.

The sea looks almost black at night, so Castiel wonders what it's like to swim in complete darkness instead of a grey-blue paradise.

No more than five minutes pass, and only then does Castiel turn to see Dean watching the sea. His expression is indescribable, this combination of calm and happy, which doesn't just make Castiel immensely satisfied that he's alive and he's in Kripke. He's with Dean, and Dean is beautiful. It makes Castiel feel grateful.

"I'd give anything to get rid of rules," Castiel says over the wind, his voice a little raised. "You have no idea how much I'd give just to shred my clothes right here and now, and dive into the sea. I have so many ideas, so many things I'd like to try, but there are always some kind of obstacles I have to face. I'm tired."

Dean smiles peacefully. "Have you made a list?"

"A what?"

The wind becomes heavier. Deadly. Brave. "A list," Dean repeats. "Of what you'd like to do if there weren't any rules."

Castiel can't keep his eyes away from Dean. "No. Should I?"

"Yeah, why the fuck not. We can make one now. Start from 10."

Dean's eyes crinkle when he smiles. It's the most enticing thing Castiel has ever seen. The hand holding is just too real. "I'd like to go skydiving."

Dean cocks an eyebrow up, but doesn't face Castiel just yet. "You have a rule against that?"

"I'm a Novak," Castiel explains. "It's basically a death sentence with absolutely no freedom of choice."

"You literally have to ask your parents for permission to go have fun?" Dean says. "Wow. No wonder your brothers partied so hard."

"Yes," Castiel says. Then, corrects himself. "Yeah."

Dean lets the little correction slide. "Okay. 9?"

"I'd like to sing karaoke."

"8?"

"Absolutely sure I would like to try eating a cockroach."

"Oh my fucking god, that is gross."

"It's not, they're full of protein."

"Still a fucking cockroach, man," Dean says. "Where do they even eat cockroaches?"

"China."

"Okay, weirdo. What's number 7."

Castiel smiles in spite of himself. "Go to China."

"Ew!" Dean exclaims and Castiel laughs. God, it's so good to laugh when you feel this free.

"It's protein!"

"Okay, just fucking zip up the stupid cockroach theme, oh my god. Next?"

"Number 6? Um, I've always been interested in places you cannot visit, unless you're an important person or whatever. Chernobyl, maybe?" Castiel wonders.

Dean plays with his fingers, and Castiel just about dies inside. "Oh, you can definitely go there. Like, you just need a special permission."

"Is it cheap?"

"I don't know," Dean says. "I knew a girl from Ukraine, so she told me it's possible. Didn't ask about the price, though."

"Would you go with me?" Castiel asks.

"Hell fucking yeah," Dean answers. "Who wouldn't want to see a person with three eyes?"

"Dean, mutants do not exist in Chernobyl."

"That's what you think. Don't force your opinion on me."

"The people were evacuated God knows how many years before."

"Then a fucking rat with three tales. I ain't picky," Dean says.

Castiel laughs.

They stand in silence for a while, and Castiel's head feels dizzy from all of the unrequited oxygen. Well, not as dizzy as Dean makes him feel when he moves in closer, touching shoulder to shoulder. "Alright, 5. We gotta finish your list."

Castiel purses his lips, switches his standing position to be even closer to Dean and blows air out through his nose. "I'd like to dress like this to work."

"You can, can't you?"

"If I'm going to be a doctor, I cannot," Castiel says. "They wear white doctor clothes."

"You can't even draw crazy stuff on the cloaks?" Dean asks, surprised.

Castiel furrows his brow. "In what place on Earth do they draw on doctor clothing?"

"Uh, here? In Kripke?" Dean says. Gestures at the sea as if it is land. "It adds up to the spice of saving lives."

Castiel snorts. "So you are saying I should bring back this tradition to America and become the first doctor with a colorful working outfit in all of Novak industry."

"Yup, that is exactly what I'm saying."

"You're an idiot."

"But I'm your idiot."

That blows Castiel's head right off, and he doesn't know how to stand, or how he's actually still standing. He gulps down his surprise, looks at Dean, but Dean still doesn't look at him.

He waves it off as friendship. Whatever this hand holding thing is. "Alright, what's next? 3?"

"No, 4," Dean corrects. A smile is still playing on his lips, distracting Castiel enough to forget what the number was. He trusts Dean to remind him.

"I could say I'd like to try painting. I'd like to have a big canvas to paint, and I'd only use a few colors."

"You've never tried painting? You're shitting me."

Castiel understands the figure of speech too easily. "I am not _shitting_ you. I've painted when I was five."

"I'm getting you a canvas."

Castiel silently thinks that the only canvas he'd like to paint on is Dean, and his brush would be his lips. "The next one could be jumping off this cliff when I can."

"Figured," Dean says. "Although when your tattoo is done, we can go cliff diving from smaller cliffs. This one is for pros."

"Are you a pro?"

"Hell yeah. Four years straight up first-runner."

"Okay. I trust you."

Dean swings their joined hands back and forth a little. "Alright. Two left. What's 2?

Castiel suddenly feels as brave as the ruthless wind, as the unforgiving sea. He wants Dean to see him, to _really _see him, and damn his fears. They mean nothing to him when he's standing so close to the only man he's ever come to find so interesting, and who he came to love in the span of four months. Four months of adventure, of drinking weird national beer, of laughing at stars and Dean climbing through his window at night. Of The Roadhouse, and his part-time job, and of smiles given to a friend, not a stranger.

It's a gift Castiel wears like a trophy.

"Fall in love," he says boldly. "But that one's easy."

He swears he can hear Dean's breath hitch against the wind. "What about the first point of your list, then?" it's nearly a whisper, how Dean asks. His face doesn't change, and right about then, right about when Castiel opens his mouth to admit he wants to have Dean close to his heart, Dean meets his eyes, and in the darkness Castiel can make out everything he loves about Dean. His freckles. His nose. His cheekbones. His eyes. His soul.

The words die on his tongue, but his mouth works in spite of Castiel's mind short-circuiting. He squeezes Dean's hand, moves in closer. "I'd kiss you."

There's about a million things you can tell from Dean's face, a million ways of telling what he's feeling, but at this particular moment, it is screaming YES in giant, glowing, glittering letters. Castiel doesn't need to ask for permission, Dean's leaning in, but when their lips are inches apart, Dean's breath ghosts over Castiel's skin, he hears chuckling.

"What?" Castiel whispers against Dean's lips.

"There's a rule against this?" he asks.

Castiel pauses for a second, prolonging the feeling right before the kiss itself. So sweet. There is absolutely no light that can surpass Castiel's soul right now. "I'm an angel," Castiel says, half-jokingly. "Ever heard of consent?"

Dean nods, and in the matter of things, his upper lip brushes against Castiel's. Soft. "I think it's obvious that there is no lack of consent here."

Castiel chuckles, and finally leans in, fitting their lips together in a harmony of the wind and the sea. If they could be creatures of nature, Dean would be water, and Castiel would be air. That's exactly how he is feeling. Like he's on Cloud Nine, and Dean's the flow that keeps him up.

The kiss is too soft, too innocent for Castiel's liking, so he presses a little harder, opens his mouth and Dean follows suite, which ends up making Castiel feel like he's flying. Open-mouthed kisses, waking every cell in Castiel's body, waking him up like an array of energy drinks, and when Dean's tongue pokes at Castiel's bottom lip, Castiel meets the tongue with newfound energy.

There is no way to explain how Dean tastes. He tastes like freedom, like The Roadhouse, like power, and Castiel loves it. Dean kisses like he's in need of Castiel's light, he needs to feel it, to consume it, to take everything from Castiel and return more than expectations set it out to be. He kisses like fire, and Castiel cannot get enough of it. He loves it so much that he happily gives his light away and clings to Dean harder.

Castiel's throat hurts from keeping all of these unsaid things in, so he makes sure to tell them through kissing the life out of Dean, trusting him to no end to keep them afloat. Castiel has felt so alone all of his life, and now, as Dean touches his face and wraps his free hand around his waist for more leverage, Castiel knows he's found his place on Earth. It's right here, in Dean's arms.

They part for breath, and in the span of a second, Dean says Castiel's name into his ear, burying his head into Castiel's neck. Castiel wants to hear his name whispered frantically, on every patch of his skin, into his mouth, ears. He wants to see Dean mouth it in rough abandon, with his breathless deep-sea voice.

They kiss for forever, until it's more than kissing that Castiel's body needs.

He fits their foreheads together, breathes hard, feels Dean's hands quivering.

"That's two down," Castiel says. "eight more to go."

Dean laughs and it's more than Castiel would ever need.

The Roadhouse is unusually quiet when Castiel gets there to start his shift early. He finds Jo at the counter, counting the money from the cashier, her whole stance concentrated. He waves her hi, starts cleaning up the bar, swipes the floor, cleans some of the pictures. Stops for at least five minutes to stare at Dean's picture and thinks about how good it felt to kiss Dean goodbye yesterday. Sleep deprived or not, the night had etched into his head like on stone.

He hears someone come in, and thinks it's an early customer, but finds a breathless, red faced Dean in the middle of the doorway, clutching his backpack, eyes fixated on Castiel only, with the same black pain slash across his face. Castiel's heart does happy jumps, butterflies fly in his stomach, and he throws the cleaning cloth on one of the nearby tables. Dean crosses the room, takes Castiel into his arms, and determinedly kisses him as if they haven't crossed the line only yesterday. Castiel kisses with open happiness, smiling into it, and feels Dean laughing into the kiss.

"OH MY GOD"

They pull apart for a second, Dean still refusing to take his hands off of Castiel, and they see Jo, who is holding money in one hand, and the other covering her mouth.

Dean waves at her.

"OH MY GOD, WHAT WAS THIS THAT I JUST SAW."

Castiel looks at her confusedly. Dean kisses Castiel's cheek. "A recent change in our work relationship."

"Is this strictly only work romance?" Castiel asks.

Dean shrugs.

"WHAT WAS THIS," Jo shouts.

"I kissed him, for crying out loud," Dean explains.

Castiel tugs on Dean's hand. "What are we, then?"

Dean looks at him adoringly. Smiles that picture perfect smile, the one he gave right after he had to leave for home. The smile for a lover, not a friend. "Boyfriends? Lovers? Fetish buddies? I'm down for anything, babe."

"I'm in a relationship with Dean Winchester," Castiel tells Jo.

Jo stares at them, open mouthed, both hands on the counter, quivering. She breathes in, hits the counter, smiles and shouts again. "ASH, COME DOWN HERE AND GIVE ME THOSE FUCKING TWENTY EURO."

"What the fuck," Dean says silently, and Castiel watches Ash peek from the second floor.

"What are you yapping about, woman?" Ask screams back.

"You lost a bet, fool! I am the ace! The fucking ace of gay!" Jo throws her documents up, and Ash comes down, just to see Dean and Castiel wrapped in each other.

"WHOAH," Ash says. "So soon?"

"What the fuck do you mean so soon -" Dean starts.

"Twenty euro," Jo demands. "Now."

"Wait, you put on a bet on _us_ getting together?" Castiel asks.

"It's a running joke with bets around here," Dean says. "Remember the one about you?"

"Why is it always about me," Cas states.

Dean laughs, and while Ash searches for twenty euros, Dean kisses Castiel, and Castiel kisses back, all of the work forgotten.

The smell of paint drying in heat makes Castiel crave less sunlight, and when he's about to paint a whole trajectory of a rainbow in the middle of three black lines making a pyramid, Dean huffs some air out, throws the brush he was holding on the ground and puts his hands on his hips.

Castiel stops whatever he's doing, stares at Dean, who looks even better when he's mastering an array of colors on his face and arms. What Castiel loves most about Dean is the fact that Dean doesn't do anything abruptly - he does it with a passion, he makes even the hardest work look like an easy piece of cake job, he makes it look _fun. _That's what he does now - the unfinished lion looks even more magnificent as Dean looks it over, the expression of admiration shining on his face like a beacon.

They've been hanging out, as always, but there's been a change in their relationship, particularly the intimate kind. Kisses, hand holding, late night cuddling, all there. One month in, and Castiel's never been happier in his entire life. Being in a relationship has hit him hard in the head, therefore, the whole Lion painting process kind of fell back, until they found themselves craving the smell of pain in the morning.

"Two more sessions and we're done," he says.

Castiel picks up the brush again, draws a few straight lines, then fills them in. Amazing. "I'm kind of sad this is coming to an end," he says. "If I hadn't agreed to help, I wouldn't have even courted you in the first place."

Dean cocks an eyebrow up, a playful smile appearing on his face. "So basically the lion is our match maker?"

"It played a giant part, yes," Castiel says, laughing. "Although I'm pretty sure the exact moment I saw your shoulder blades I couldn't keep my eyes off of you."

Dean wipes his hands on a ruined wash cloth, throws it on their working table. "Yeah? Good thing that happened, if you hadn't looked, I wouldn't have noticed the enormous blue eye game you got going on there."

"I have an enormous blue eye game?"

"You've got a lot of game," Dean says, and comes closer. Wraps his hands around Castiel from the back. "All the time."

"Thank you," Castiel says. Paints a few more lines, although a little more wobbly than before. Dean's hands keep distracting him to the fullest. "I appreciate the game reference."

Dean nuzzles his nose against the back of Castiel's neck, kisses the skin a few times and squeezes Castiel's waist. "That wasn't even a reference, nerd."

Castiel lowers the brush, turns his head slightly to the left, gives Dean more access to more glorious neck kissing. "You do realize you're a bigger nerd than I will ever be," he says. "Every time I hear something close to a reference, I _understand_ it as a reference. No exceptions."

Dean complies to the open-neck kissing thing, dragging his lips upwards, leaving hot, burning tingling on Castiel's skin with every touch of his lips. "I'm gonna have to teach you more about references, Cas. You're getting ridiculously adorable when you don't get things."

"I get a _lot_ of things," Castiel says and turns around in Dean's embrace. Meets Dean's mischievous eyes and a thrill runs down his spine, one of those good chills that only pass you when something good is about to happen. You _know_ it's going to happen, and it makes it even more exciting. "For example, I'm absolutely convinced you are trying to seduce me, Dean Winchester."

Dean smiles a full-blown smile, pulling Castiel flush against him, chest to chest. "When haven't I tried to seduce you before?" he asks. "I don't even have that many fingers on my hands or toes, if I wanted to count all of the times I've kept hinting. Must be like a million."

Castiel raises an eyebrow. "You kept hinting?"

"Charlie put a bet on how long it would take for you to notice."

"Another bet?"

Dean hums, pouts, looks up at the sky innocently. "Didn't work though. I find it absolutely amazing that you've been so oblivious to my charm until I showed you the glory of the Mediterranean at night."

It's Castiel's time to roll his eyes. "I haven't been entirely oblivious," he says. "I was watching you too closely to see any obvious hints."

Dean fits their foreheads together and closes his eyes. Castiel watches Dean's too long eyelashes move, and wishes he could see them for the very first time again, just to feel the exact same feeling when he first met Dean and thought it was the most beautiful sight in his entire life.

"Watching me, huh," Dean says and Castiel kisses him to shut him up.

The kisses now are lazy. More exploring. Getting to know a person in such an intimate way, learning how the other person communicates through the touch of skin to skin, is the best creation in the entire universe. Castiel learns so much about Dean from the way Dean moves his lips against his, how he nips at the bottom lip, how his tongue playfully flicks at Castiel's, and how Dean's taste reminds Castiel of sleepless nights and adrenaline shots.

It tastes dangerous, and Castiel doesn't understand why, but it makes it even more real.

Dean's hands move forward, his fingers dragging down the shirt, and his fingertips breach the bottom of the fabric, touching unexplored skin. It sends shivers everywhere, and Castiel leans into the touch almost immediately, having a hard time to concentrate on Dean's lips and Dean's fingers at the same time.

Dean sighs into the kiss, pulling the shirt up a bit, and sliding his hands around some naked skin of Castiel's back, to which Castiel reacts by kissing harder, biting into Dean's lip and letting out a low grunt from the back of his own throat.

They've been going at it for God knows how long, and for some unknown reason, none of them want to take the last step of their relationship. Although, Castiel thinks, touching Dean's skin under his shirt has got to be one of his favorite pastimes.

It's when they move closer and Castiel feels just _how_ close they are to the last step, he kisses Dean once more and nuzzles his neck. Dean breathes heavily and his fingers tremble against Castiel's skin.

"Cas -"

"I know," Castiel says, mostly because he's still a little bit afraid. What if Dean doesn't like him in bed? What if they're incompatible?

"You're just -" Dean says. "Oh man, I'm screwed."

Castiel kisses him, and Dean sighs into it like it's his only remedy.

"What I'm sayin' is," Dean says, his head placed on Castiel's lap and they're watching Mythbusters in Greek. "You gotta choose a tattoo that says something to _you_, right?"

"I think that it's a person's choice, whether he wants it to mean anything at all," Castiel ponders. "I got mine because -"

"Because Anna made the sketch for you and the Novak family is a descendant of angels, yadda yadda, I know," Dean says. "The point is, it means something. I love giving meaning to meaningless things."

"Yeah?" Castiel smiles. "Do you have any meaningful tattoos?"

Dean freezes for a single second, then lifts off of Castiel's lap and turns to face him. He has his feet under his legs, and looks damn comfortable, and breathtaking with that mess of hair. "Uh, I actually do," he says.

Castiel lifts his eyebrows. Dean points at the general area of his chest. "Right here," Dean says.

Castiel's breath hitches. "Can I see?"

Dean gulps some air down, looks down at his plaid button down, calculates something in his head. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I guess."

Castiel shuffles closer, inches his fingers to Dean's button down, silently asking for permission with his eyes. Dean slowly nods, helping with the first button of his shirt.

It's excruciatingly slow, this undressing thing. Castiel's fingers tremble at each and every one button he's popping open, and his eyes hungrily ogle all of that skin opening up before him. They've never been even half-naked in front of each other, and now, seeing _so much_, so _fast_, makes Castiel's mouth dry.

All of the buttons open, Castiel parts the shirt and sees Dean's toned muscles at first, and then his eyes drift to a gray looking tattoo on Dean's chest. It looks pagan, something he's seen in textbooks about protection, so he recognizes it easily. He carefully lifts his hand and touches the tattoo, and Dean flinches.

"Is this okay?" Castiel asks quickly.

Dean's eyes are entirely focused on him, his pupils blown fully, his hair dishevelled and his look almost predatory. "Yeah," he says. "It's alright."

Castiel tries once again, traces the tattoo with shaking fingers, but there's something off with it. The tattoo looks like it discolored over time, the ink nearly gray on Dean's golden skin. He lifts his eyes to meet Dean's, and Dean surges forward, capturing Castiel's lips with his own.

This kiss, it's nothing like they've shared before. It's wild, it's outnumbering, it's nearly destroying in how good it feels. Castiel's skin ignites with fire, and suddenly, his arms are no longer shaking, his head isn't filled with no more doubts. He wants to inhale Dean, to taste every bit of his burning skin, he wants to trace the tattoo with his lips.

Dean leans backward, looking like an Adonis, and Castiel's hands clutch at Dean's neck, bringing him back for more kisses. Dean moans into the kiss, places his hands on top of Castiel's jeans, raking the fabric up, until he's grabbing fiercely at Castiel's hips.

Dean sighs and climbs into Castiel's lap, wrapping his thighs on both sides. Castiel retrieves his hands, yet stares at Dean in admiration and lust unmatched, to which Dean answers with kissing the side of Castiel's jaw. Castiel's soaking it up like a sponge, tangling his fingers in Dean's short hair, playing a little with the nape of the fine hairs at the base of Dean's neck. Dean breathes in sharply through his nose, and bites his lip, letting a whimper out through his teeth, and he smiles. The smile is so unlike the others Dean usually wears. It makes Castiel want Dean even more. His dick perks up with interest, and Dean's crotch is too far away from that delicious friction they both crave so much.

Castiel slowly lowers his lips down on Dean's jaw-line, and he tentatively kisses a line down to Dean's neck, where he leaves a trail of red marks that will disappear in a few minutes. Dean gives more access by leaning his head to the left, leaving the skin naked to Castiel's escapades. Dean closes his eyes relishing in the raw feeling of Castiel's lips on his feverish skin. Castiel's heart flutters so hard against his ribcage, it's threatening to burst out of his chest. He feels too much, wants too much, _more and more_, and the painfully slow torture of Dean isn't helping. Dean's hands clamp down on Castiel's hips, definitely going to leave marks tomorrow. Castiel lets out a small breath against Dean's jaw, and Dean shivers at the sensation. Castiel's slightly trembling, just slightly, eager to do more, to possess, but Dean's grip on his hips is too strong and too reassuring. They have to move slow, they have to behave, or else Dean will stop, and Castiel is ready to do anything so that Dean never stops.

Dean's hands slowly go up and remove Castiel's shirt, which ends up in Castiel leaning back on the couch, the itching of his tattoo ignored by how hard Castiel is now. Dean kisses the corner of Castiel's lips, and it takes ages for Castiel to calm down the urge to devour Dean's mouth with hot open mouthed kisses.

Castiel watches Dean with hooded eyes, lust clearly visible and fixated upon Dean's body. Dean suddenly becomes bolder, near frantic with his fingers and Castiel's jeans pop open with the help of Dean.

Castiel can't take it anymore, he draws Dean closer, drags his hands down Dean's front, eagerly touching the muscles on Dean's stomach, earning sharp intakes of breath from Dean. Dean releases a low groan when, finally, their hardened nether regions grind together in a practiced slide, and Castiel just about dies inside at the feeling of their dicks together through just one layer of denim. Castiel drags his nails up and down Dean's back, and Dean wraps himself even tighter around Castiel.

They grind together, searching for that mind-blowing friction, and Castiel thinks it would be better without any clothing between them. Dean's open-mouthed, eyes-closed, their foreheads pressed together. They breathe each other's air, moving against one another in quick thrusts of their hips. Castiel can feel Dean's dick lined up with his and for a terrifying second, he thinks he won't be able to last much longer. Having arms full of Dean doesn't do much good for your sanity.

Dean's a moaning mess on top of him. His hands roam down Castiel's chest, touching as much skin as he can reach. He retreats a little from Castiel, who groans at the loss of heat, but not for long, since his fingers are already working down between the rubber band of Castiel's underwear. Castiel helps him out by grabbing Dean's hand and navigating it downward, cupping him without any restraints, and Castiel wants to kiss Dean, to have him chest to chest, but all of that goes away when Dean's hand moves up and down, getting the right feel of Castiel's dick.

Castiel's breathing becomes erratic, and he believes he's chanting Dean's name, because Dean keeps kissing him whenever he opens his mouth to say something. The friction of Dean's hand feels wonderful, and for a sane moment, Castiel remembers that Dean's left _aching_.

He pushes Dean slightly away, and shimmies his jeans down to his ankles, leaving Dean in his underwear and with a kind of big tent saying hello. Dean smiles at him, stands up, and pulls the underwear down, revealing all of himself.

And he's beautiful.

Castiel stares at him in open adoration, his whole body throbbing with excitement, and when Dean blatantly pulls off the rest of the clothing from Castiel, he kisses Dean so he doesn't look at him. Doesn't work though. Dean leans back to admire his work, and the look in his eyes can only say that he's going to do a _lot _of things to Castiel.

"Perfect," Dean murmurs.

"Fuck you, why are you stopping?" Castiel manages out.

A playful grin crosses Dean's face. "Enjoying the view."

"Come back here, you can enjoy watching me naked later," Castiel all but growls and Dean complies.

The first touch of their dicks together is a no-word-for-it experience. Castiel moans low against Dean's ear, and when Dean grinds down, hard, Castiel forgets his own name. It's a mess of them moving against each other, and it's wonderful, and Castiel wants more and more until Dean parts his legs and settles in between. Castiel wraps his legs around Dean's waist, making it easier for friction to happen.

Dean grabs Castiel's ass for more leverage, staring at Castiel intently before kissing him, and then they're at it again.

"You should see yourself," Dean keeps saying. "Oh man, you should see _all of yourself_, the way I see you."

Dean's fingers wander down, and massage the tight muscle ring of Castiel's ass, at which Castiel lets out an even louder moan. It's been a while, they can't go without preparation, it would _hurt_ -

"Dean," Castiel says without breath. "Dean, lube, I -"

"Don't worry, babe, I got you covered," Dean says and quickly disentangles himself from Castiel, leaving him aching. He rummages through the shelves and comes back with a pack of condoms and a bottle of lube.

Castiel stares at them for a second. "Fuck the condoms."

"Are you clean?" Dean asks.

"Yes," Castiel breathes out. "Just - hurry, Dean, please."

Dean throws the pack away, somewhere behind them, and from then on, it's them against the world. Dean covers his fingers with a generous amount of lube, murmuring something like _it's always good to be prepared_, and breaches the hole with the first finger.

Castiel's almost forgotten how it feels. He moves down on Dean's finger, watching Dean's expressions more closely, and Dean's so wild looking it almost looks like he's the predator. It's so wonderful, this feeling of being cared for, that he doesn't feel it when Dean's prepared him enough, instead gasping at the way Dean's dick passes the first round of his ring muscle.

Dean lets out a low groan, closing his eyes and stretching his neck. Castiel catches a few sweat beads going down Dean's neck, leaving kiss marks everywhere he can until Dean's fully sheathed inside.

Dean's still for a few seconds, and Castiel enjoys the feeling of being full, the pain invisible against Dean's light. It's as if Castiel's whole world changed just with this small event in his life, and it's the first time ever that Castiel feels so good when he's with another person. He wiggles down on Dean a little, then clamps down, and moves his hips up and down, and Dean grunts with _please hold on_.

He doesn't, though.

Dean has nothing left to do but move with Castiel in slow, circular motions, and they make a rhythm together, something of a symphony of body movement, and Castiel feels like he's in heaven and he's floating on stars.

They're almost kissing, their lips touching only slightly, and it's the most wonderful feeling in the world. Castiel chants Dean's name, and when Dean's dick touches that _spot_ that makes Castiel see the stars he's floating on, Castiel is sure he made the right choice.

Then, Dean starts pounding into him. They explore each other's bodies in synchronic glances, in every kiss and every breath, and Castiel feels the burning need in his abdomen, that slowly building fire.

"Dean, I-" he warns.

Dean nods, as if he knows, and Castiel just lets go.

This feeling, it's relief and an unrelenting force, taking everything from Castiel and leaving nothing but blackness and stars behind, but nonetheless, it leaves him like jelly, all spent and happy and filled with so much joy he could burst.

Dean's breathing is rapid, and it takes one look of a spent Castiel for him to release his own load inside of Castiel.

They pant hard, staring at each other, and then Dean starts laughing.

Castiel doesn't understand at first, but then, this bubbly laughter-like-feeling comes from out of his chest, and he's joining in.

He feels as free as that time they first kisses, and then, he wonders, how free he can be together with Dean.

"Hey Dean?" he says, as they're laying on the couch, still wrapped around one another.

"Yeah?" Dean grunts, nearly asleep.

"I love you."


	5. Chapter 5

**How it went to shit**

Castiel wakes up in Dean's bed (after countless days of them spending their whole free time in Dean's bed _together_) , wrapped like an octopus in Dean's embrace, their naked bodies too sweaty for the early morning of the Mediterranean in summer. He watches Dean sleep, the calmest he's ever seen the man throughout his whole stay in this island.

Castiel's back kind of hurts from one of the last sessions with Anna, the bigger piece almost finished and polished to perfection, although the skin around it looks red, but ever since Dean touched every line with his fingers, it doesn't seem to hurt as much anymore. Anna says it's only three or four sessions to go, one more until she could begin sealing his gift, which makes him feel giddy. Technically, he could ask Anna if she could finish it earlier, but he's too content with just being in Kripke for the time being and not worrying about all of the problems finishing his Seal would get him.

The biggest problem of all is how much he wants to stay with Dean and wake up to _this _every day.

Especially to Dean humming in his sleep, and the effect of a morning after very _indescribable_ activities pressed into Castiel's hip.

"Someone's excited," Castiel murmurs into Dean's hair and Dean rolls his hips lazily.

"Mhm," Dean mumbles into his human-pillow, a.k.a Castiel's shoulder. "All this skin is making me feel like a teenager on supplements."

"Oh my god, ew," Castiel says, laughing.

Dean kisses the place where Castiel's neck ends and his shoulder begins. "When do we have to get up?"

Castiel looks at the clock. "In about two hours."

Dean kisses down the shoulder. "I can think of something to do for the next twenty minutes, give or take."

Castiel pouts. "Only twenty?"

"Dude, we have to shower, and go shopping before work," Dean laughs. "As much as I'd like to exchange some lovin' for hours to come, all I've got is time for the most amazing blow job ever."

Castiel's dick perks up at that, and it doesn't take long for Dean to notice. He turns to face Dean and kisses him, rolling his hips against Dean's hardness, earning a low moan when both of them touch. Still being sweaty from last night makes the exchange even more mind-blowing than it could be, and Castiel keeps grinding against Dean until his boyfriend takes them both in hand and drags up and down with ease.

Castiel opens his mouth, sighing from the feeling, and he feels Dean smiling against his cheek.

"Love the way you look when I do this," Dean murmurs. "So good for me."

Dean kisses down his neck, still both of them in his hands. Shuffles downward, trailing kisses over Castiel's chest, his bellybutton, his thigh.

Castiel settles on his back, clutching the sheets as Dean places a kiss on the tip of his dick.

"Dean -"

Dean drags his tongue down the shaft, then takes it all in one go, and Castiel's mind blows up with stars. The heat of Dean's mouth, his technique, everything done so passionately that Castiel cannot believe that at first he was afraid of having sex with Dean. Dean's perched in between his legs, doing wonders with his tongue, and Castiel gets hold of Dean's hair, while the other hand is helplessly clutching at the fabric of Dean's sheets.

He comes without warning, and to Castiel's surprise, Dean doesn't pull away. He takes every drop in, licks everything clean, lifts his eyes and right then Castiel thinks he would've come again if he had the strength.

Dean doesn't wait for Castiel to put his hands on him, he finishes himself off by looking Castiel into the eye, and his eyes flutter shut while he's coming with a gasp and Castiel's name on his lips.

He slumps on top of Cas, fitting into an octopus-like embrace, and Castiel kisses Dean's nose.

"That was wonderful," he says.

"You know what's gonna be wonderful?" Dean hums while peppering Castiel's skin with kisses.

"What?"

"When we get back from work and -"

He's cut off because of a phone call, Dean's phone blaring Carry On My Wayward Son. Dean groans, rolls over, grabs the phone off the nightstand and presses the green button.

"Winchester," he says.

He's listening intently for a full minute, then his face changes into pain, then fear and then determination.

"I'll be there," Dean says all while getting up from bed.

He drops the phone on top of the sheets, finds his underwear on the ground and drags them on.

"What happened?" Castiel asks cautiously, still lying in bed, his muscles tense.

Dean puts on pants and searches for a clean shirt. "Bobby's not feeling well," he says. "Sam's at his place, and Bobby said he wants me there. I don't know if Ellen -"

"Don't worry," Castiel says, gets up from bed and starts redressing himself. "I'll tell Ellen we need a cover shift."

Dean stops for a second, stares at Castiel as if he's seeing him for the very first time, then crosses the room, takes him into his hands and kisses the life out him. Castiel kisses back with enthusiasm, all because kissing Dean is staying afloat. "I love you," Dean says suddenly and Castiel's lungs stop short of breath.

He's heard a lot of _i love you's_ in his life, but this one sounds so genuine, so thought out, that he can't speak another word.

Dean kisses him one more time, gives him the keys to his apartment and leaves.

Castiel's still standing in the middle of the room, his soul bursting with so much joy he feels like he's the sea and Dean's his sunlight.

Castiel's in the middle of his shift with Charlie, when Ellen comes down the stairs and shouts, "Sorry folks, we're closing early today!"

There's a collective sound of groans and mumbling, but everyone leaves in the next five minutes after paying. Castiel instantly goes over to Ellen, who is frantically explaining something to Jo, who has her hand over her mouth in silent shock.

"Ellen?" Castiel says when he approaches them.

Ellen hugs him quickly. "Oh boy," she says. "Dean's called, and he's saying it's worse than he thought. Bobby's lying in bed, coughing mad. We don't know what to do."

"Have you tried calling the hospital?" Castiel says, worried.

Ellen shakes her head. "We can't without Bobby's consent. He's still talking, but we're afraid he's not going to be talking after."

Jo lowers her hand, wraps her arms around her Mother. "What do we do?"

Seeing so much pain in their eyes, Castiel rakes over every little detail of how he could help and then -

"I can help," he says determinedly.

"How?" Jo asks, her cheeks streaked with tears.

"My Seal," Castiel quickly explains. "I can finish my Seal."

Ellen's eyes widen. "What do you mean - Castiel, you can't. If the tattoo isn't finished and your soul is not ready, you can damage your gift!"

"Anna's told me I can finish the Seal even now, if I wanted to. I've only been waiting for her to finish my tattoo, but it doesn't matter if it's for Bobby. I just need your yes, and I can go."

"We have to talk to Dean and Sam," Jo says.

Ellen calls them, talks for a while, then puts down the phone. "Dean says you shouldn't even try, because he's going to punch you in the face if you risk your gift because Bobby's not feeling okay."

"Fuck what Dean thinks," Castiel says. "What about Sam?"

"Sam's scared to death, and says it's a good idea, but it's your choice," she says, biting her lip. "According to Sam, Bobby's nearing something bad."

It takes two seconds for Castiel to make his decision. "I'm going to Anna's. Can you drive me?"

Ellen goes behind the bar and grabs the keys to her car.

They drive to Anna's at maximum speed, and Castiel knocks on Anna's door for a thousand times before she opens, followed by her dog barking behind her.

"Castiel?" she says, surprised.

"Anna, I need you to finish the Seal, now," Castiel says. "It's Bobby, he's -"

Anna's expression changes into a professional one. "Are you sure you want your tattoo unfinished? You know that after I finish the Seal, you won't be able to add any color or any finishing details to the tattoo you have now."

"I don't care," Castiel demands. "I just need the Seal done. Please."

She opens her door wider, lets Ellen and Castiel inside.

They shuffle into Anna's office, and Ellen sits in the armchair, while Castiel and Anna stand in the middle of the room.

Castiel takes off his shirt and flexes his muscles. Ellen stares at the tattoo and gasps. "This is your Seal?"

Castiel nods. Anna touches the place where his shoulder blades meet. "It's not going to hurt. The problem is that I do not know what will happen to your gift if we finish early. It shouldn't be damaging a lot, because we only needed two more times to be done with. I just hope you're sure about this."

"I am," Castiel says. "Quickly, Anna, we don't know how much time we have left."

Anna looks at him for a second to see if he's really sure, then sighs, and places her hands on Castiel's back. She drags her fingers down the place where Castiel's grace is concentrated most, presses into it and Castiel prepares for something, _anything_, when a prickling sensation blows up from Anna's fingers into his skin.

A blue light fills the room, and Castiel looks at his own hands, where his veins are popped out and shining from within, creating an illuminating hue around his skin. He breathes rapidly, taking in gulps of oxygen down his lungs, the prickling feeling turning into something too much, absolutely no control of power, and his gift starts blowing throughout his body without warning.

He gasps for something more than air, but his lungs deny it, his brain denies it.

Then, Anna's hands leave him, and he falls on the ground, choking, breathing without really breathing in, coughing fits taking over his whole body.

Anna and Ellen crouch over him, asking if he's okay.

Castiel raises his head, the blue of his eyes even bluer than before. Then, the glowing stops.

He stands on his wobbly feet, held by Anna and Ellen.

"We have to go now," he says. "I don't know if I got the whole gift."

Ellen nods. Turns to Anna. "Thank you. And do come over to the Roadhouse, Charlie misses you."

Anna blushes, but doesn't say anything. Castiel coughs again, flexes his hands, and feels so much _power_. "I'll call you."

"Go," Anna says. "We'll talk later."

So they go.

They reach Bobby's house in fifteen minutes of, again, speeding, and Castiel barely makes it to the door, when Dean runs out of the house, and embraces the shit out of him. "You did not," he says.

Castiel breathes in the scent of Dean and the sea. "I did. Where's Bobby?"

Dean groans, but grabs Castiel's hand, ignores Ellen and they run into the house together. Bobby's in his room, and Castiel nearly gasps at the view of his pale face and hollow cheeks.

"W-what," Bobby wheezes out. "Oh b-balls, I don't - He doesn't -"

Bobby starts coughing, and Castiel doesn't waste another second, shoving Sam out of the way, and sitting next to Bobby and placing his hands on top of Bobby's chest. He doesn't know how to use the gift, doesn't know how strong it can be, but when he touches Bobby, it's as if he can see every single tumour in Bobby's body, these shining beacons of pain pulsing through Castiel's fingers.

He turns to Dean and Sam, who stand there, looking like they lost something good in life. "Please shut your eyes," he asks.

Sam does so instantly, while Dean takes his precious time. He stares at Castiel, then nods, and then closes his eyes.

Castiel turns back to Bobby, who looks like he's not breathing anymore, and Castiel gets to work.

It's as if his grace wraps around the tumours and drags the poison out with small tendrils of light, which make Castiel's eyes glow, and veins pop out again. He can feel the tumours getting smaller, the pain gradually going away, and he's getting happier by the second, but then...

Then, the poison stops flowing. The few tumours left start pulsing with more pain, with misery and no matter how much Castiel tries to remove them, they don't budge.

Castiel screams inside of his head.

It should have worked, he has so much _power_, why isn't it going _away_, what's wrong with him? What's wrong with his gift?

Castiel looks at his own hands, the ones that removed part of the problem, but the only one he could've fixed is even more broken. Bobby's lying unconscious, an obvious mix of pain on his slowly paling face shimmering with the uprising guilt coming from Castiel. He looks back at Dean and Sam, who stare at him in quiet misery.

"It's not working," Castiel says frantically. "It's not working, I can't, it isn't -"

Dean shuts him up by putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing.

Sam calls the hospital and it goes from there.

Dean's hands shake with how much he needs to keep his calm, but he makes Castiel stand up and hugs him close to his chest.

"I love you," he says. He means it. "It's alright, Cas, he's going to be fine. The ambulance is coming."

"What if he doesn't wake up," Castiel murmurs into Dean's shoulder. "What if -"

"No more what if's, babe," Dean says. His voice is lower than ever. "Whatever happens, we'll be fine, you and I."

Castiel searches for Dean's lips, finds them, receives a reassuring kiss. He breathes Dean in, and calms himself. "It's going to be okay?" Castiel says.

"It's going to be okay," Dean repeats and kisses him again. Then, leans back and guides Castiel's hand into his. They hold hands while watching over Bobby until the ambulance comes, and when it does, they ride Ellen's car to the hospital, while Sam accompanies Bobby.

At the hospital, the Doctors check on Bobby, leave him in a ward, and they wait for news.

When the news come, everything changes, and Dean isn't himself anymore.

"There's only one way to fix this," Dean suddenly says and there's nothing but cold determination flashing across his face. Castiel looks at Sam, who towers over all of them, and the usual puppy like face changes into realization, and then anger.

"No," he says, his voice dangerously close to fury. "No way. No _fucking_ way. Not after last time."

Dean's lips become a tight line. "This is not your decision, Sammy."

Sam surges forward, shoves Dean with his both hands, the friendly aura about him changes into something dangerous, something so scary that Castiel's seal pumps with trickles of fear. "That is _exactly_ what's been wrong between us, Dean! Everything is _your _decision. We're family, aren't we? Since when does a family have just one decision maker? It's a _group_ decision."

Dean shoves back, this time harder. "Fuck off, this is _Bobby_. Do you have any brighter ideas, college boy? He sure as hell will appreciate the fact that we're making _family_ decisions while he's in there, dying." Dean points at the door. Castiel has never seen him so angry. It scares him. Makes him feel helpless. Even more so now that his Seal is filled with the power of the gift, unfinished one, and there's a hole in his soul screaming 'YOU COULDN'T HELP'. He wants to say all of this out loud, to make Dean feel okay, to help Bobby and help this precious family that means so much to him, but when he opens his mouth to calm Dean down, Sam, precious Sam looks bewildered, hurt, in misery.

"Dean," he says, his voice almost a whisper. "Dean, please, you can't. You know what happens after."

Dean's hands curl into fists, he avoids eye contact with Castiel, instead watches his brother. "I don't care."

"What about Cas?" Sam points at Castiel, then points at Ellen and Jo sleeping on the bench. "What about your _family_? We can't lose you again."

Castiel's heart nearly jumps out of his chest. "What do you mean -" he almost asks Dean, but Dean holds up a hand to be quiet.

"It's Bobby we're talking about," he says, raises his voice. "I can't fucking ignore this and let him pass like our parents."

Castiel suddenly feels angry himself, angry at Dean who is just not listening. Castiel's angry because he is so confused, because this conversation makes no sense to him and he just wants answers. He grabs Dean's hand, finally making him look at Castiel.

"What's going on?" Castiel asks as calmly as he can possibly manage. Dean stares at him in silent shock, in pure adoration, in slight fear.

Sam looks horrified, afraid, and only then does Castiel notice how Dean's hands are covered in sweat and his veins are popped out.

"Don't say it," Sam warns quickly. "Dean, don't you fucking tell him."

Castiel's about to tell Sam he should shut up, when Dean lets go of his hand, never breaks the eye contact, expresses about a million things just by moving a millisecond, only because the light changes everything and Castiel knows that this time the light will tell the truth through the green grass of Dean's eyes.

Dean rolls his shirt sleeve away, right up to the bandage Castiel was so curious about and suddenly, Castiel understands why Dean's tattoo is so gray, why some of it looks roughly done. The fear doesn't set in, it subsides, waits, lingers until Dean blatantly rips the bandage away, revealing a nearly fresh looking Mark of Cain, the only thing more horrible than death. Castiel's heart stops.

Then beats again.

Rapidly.

So fast, he's out of breath and the colors he's seen so vividly before turn to the gray and red of Dean's Mark.

Dean's blurry figure loses all of its feeling, any emotion that Castiel has lied to himself he's seen on Dean's face fade into the distance, a memory of it too painful to bear.

"You -" Castiel barely manages out. "You have... the Mark of Cain?"

"It's not as bad as it seems, we can explain -" Sam keeps his voice low, but Castiel raises his hand, a tight feeling creeping up his chest, swelling with pain.

"Cas -" Dean tries.

Castiel turns to Dean, his hand still raised. Dean immediately shuts up.

"You have the Mark of Cain and you haven't told me from the very beginning that all of _this,_" he gestures in between them. "Would be a blatant lie? Have you thought me stupid, Dean?"

Dean's face changes into misery, but holds the same anger for Bobby from before. Castiel believes none of this. No matter how much it hurts. Lies, all lies. "_I love you_, and you use me for what? _For sex_? For bodily pleasures and basic human needs? I have been nothing all of this time on Kripke, and you haven't bothered to even _mention _that _perhaps_ you do not have any feelings at all, and you're as soul-less as you can even be in this world?"

Dean looks over at Sam, opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again, "I do have the Mark," he says. "But it's not what it seems -"

"Do not _dare _lie to me, Winchester," Castiel spits out. Dean tries reaching for him, but Castiel slaps the hand away, infuriated. He's red in the face, his whole body hurts, but at this moment, he doesn't care. He doesn't think. All he knows is that the person he fell in love with, that would've spent his whole life with, has been a liar all of this time.

Sam surges forward in between them, seeing how Castiel is ready to beat the shit out of his what, lover? Castiel isn't sure anymore. "This is a hospital, guys," he says. "You can have your lover's quarrel later."

Castiel looks at him in disbelief. "Lover's _quarrel_? Are you insane? Do you need to get your head checked out or something?" he points at Dean over Sam's shoulder. "He finished his fucking Mark with another Mark sealer! How can you even act so accepting -"

Now, Dean gets angry. "You know what, fuck you! You haven't even heard the fucking story yet, and you make stupid fucking assumptions over who I am because of a stupid Mark? That is so low!"

"There can't even be a story behind it, all of the Cain holders I've ever known have either ended up in a mental institution, or went on a killing spree which also ended with them in mental institutions. Tell me, Dean, how did you even fake your feelings for me? You're a fucking great actor, that's what you _are_," Castiel shouts, and he doesn't even care if anyone watches them, or sees how angry he is now. He wants an out, he wants to run, and never look back.

Dean groan-shouts, turns on his heel, grabs his hair, and drags his hand down to his neck. Bites his lip. Castiel's head screams LIAR in capital letters. "The Mark is not who I am -" Dean starts but doesn't get to finish, because a doctor approaches them in caution.

Sam instantly silences the both of them, and Castiel tries really hard to concentrate on what the doctor is saying.

It's even worse from then.

Bobby's dead, and there was nothing they could do to stop his heart from resting.

Dean springs into action, with Sam grabbing his arm. "Dean, no," he begs one last time.

Dean turns to look Castiel in the eye, his eyes somewhat glassy and big and wonderful and Castiel hates himself for thinking this. "You'd better fucking listen to what I have to say after you see this," he says.

"See what?" Castiel manages asking.

Sam lowers his head, clutches Dean's hand stronger. "Dean, please, we can't lose you again," he murmurs.

Dean yanks his hand out, crouches next to Sam, and at the same time Ellen, Jo and Charlie gather around them. Castiel stands awkwardly a little further away, the fear of the Mark making him stay rooted to his place, the one person he could call his true family now a complete stranger in his eyes. A surge of love and pain washes over him, and he wants to scream. "Sam," Dean says, his voice too affectionate, too real-sounding. "Sammy boy. You just gotta lock me in Bobby's cellar. Just a few weeks."

Sam breathes heavily.

Dean wraps his arms around Sam, and Castiel doesn't understand anything, he doesn't understand why Dean tries so hard to appear humane. "Sam, please. Just a few weeks. For Bobby. I'm really sorry."

Ellen crouches next to them, joins the hug. Jo, too. Charlie does so in a matter of seconds and Castiel's the only one standing, crushed by the view and still unbelievably angry. He wants to join, he wants to numb whatever pain Dean is pretending to feel, he wants to get up in the morning and see Dean's smile. For a lover, not a friend.

Jo then lifts her head, tears streaking down her face. "We all know about the Mark," she says. "Give him a chance to explain. After you see what he can do, maybe, just maybe you will understand."

Castiel's throat hurts with tears burning inside of his skull, and he blinks them away. He refuses to look at Jo, to believe she could be asking him for something more than acceptance.

When he opens his eyes, Jo isn't looking at him. Everyone is focused upon Dean, who keeps saying 'just a few weeks, that's all' and Castiel understand nothing he's feeling anymore. All of them stand up, and walk.

Castiel wipes the few tears away with his sleeve, breathes deeper, and follows them to Bobby's ward. It's all a blur, how they reach it. He doesn't remember most of it. But what happens inside of the ward, that is what turns his stomach back around, a collision of fear and curiosity and pain stopping him from even thinking about what happened at all.

Everyone makes room for Dean, who swiftly sits down next to a non-breathing, blue-looking, absolutely heartbreaking mess of Bobby. He's so still, and Dean's so still, and everyone is still except for Castiel, who's breathing even more than before, the sudden lack of oxygen exploding in his head like a thousand nuclear bombs.

Dean once again looks at Ellen and Sam. "You know what to do," he says. "You have to act quick. Call for security."

"I'll go now," Jo says suddenly. She looks bewildered, and she squeezes Castiel's hand before running out of the ward, wiping away sweat and tears.

Sam lets out a shaky breath. "Alright. This is the last time, promise me this, Dean," he says.

Dean smiles that lopsided smile. "We've been over this, Samsquatch," he says. Once again, Castiel's heart stammers at the way how genuine Dean sounds. "I've got all of you here with me, there's literally nothing to fear."

"Get on with it, Winchester," Ellen says, but her voice breaks in between. She clears her throat. "We've got you covered."

Dean nods and his final look is dedicated to Castiel, who drinks it in like it's the last time he'll be able to see that brilliant shade of green and that amazingly well-put smile. So beautiful, it hurts. "I hope you can understand why I did it," he says. "I hope you can forgive me."

With those words, Dean turns his back to them, closes his eyes and touches a tentative hand to Bobby's unmoving chest. His brows furrow in concentration, and Castiel can hear Sam's breath hitching.

Then, the only part of Dean that Castiel couldn't look at, now starts shining a bright red, and Castiel can't do anything but look at the glowing Mark of Cain. The red seeps through Dean's veins, igniting every single blood-vessel in his arm, which travels down to his fingertips, and surprisingly, ends up shining through Bobby's hospital-gown.

The crimson flow rapidly spreads throughout all of Bobby, embracing his face and hands and legs. Dean's face shines with sweat, with something reminding Castiel of pain, and even though Castiel should be angry, all he can feel now is intense fear.

He feels Charlie slip her hand into his, and he notices how everyone is holding hands, which makes the fear even more severe. Castiel is about to lose his mind, when Dean makes a low growling sound, then screams. Castiel notices Dean opening his eyes, and this black hole opens up in Castiel's heart. Almost as black as Dean's eyes, evidence that Dean indeed has the Wrath of Cain disorder.

Right as this happens, Charlie lets go of Castiel's hand, and all of them go forward, grabbing Dean wherever they can, and Dean, Castiel's Dean, trashes around screaming bloody murder at all of them. It happens too fast, and Dean is wrapped in contains, is held by at least five security guards, and Sam is explaining everything to the guards.

It's too much at the same time, so he focuses on Bobby. Ellen sits beside Bobby, holds his hand, and Castiel witnesses a blessing of all things on this day.

Bobby opens his eyes, breathes in, and chokes on his words.

After, all Castiel remembers is darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

**How it healed**

Anna pours him coffee, sits in front and waits for him to speak.

He doesn't. Not that he doesn't want to. It's hard to speak of something that's been in your head for the last six days, constantly making him worry and think that maybe, just maybe, he might be wrong about everything he's been screaming at himself while looking in the mirror in the cold haze of his dull mornings. His bed hasn't been the same since Dean last lay in it, therefore, Castiel hasn't gotten a lot of sleep these days.

"The Mark -" he starts.

"I know," Anna says. "I've heard rumours. After what Dean pulled off in the hospital, everyone knows the truth."

Castiel purses his lips and nods.

That's the way it's always been with Anna, she knew things before he even opened his mouth. Consequently, this time he isn't as happy that she does.

He could've lived a lie for a while longer, that Dean doesn't have the Mark, that the past 6 months weren't a complete lie on Dean's part. Castiel still feels so much love he could burst, and it's not the thing he'd like to discuss with his sister.

But, since he didn't come back to the Roadhouse after that fateful night, he doesn't have anyone to talk to, and his sister is his last bus stop.

She sighs, puts her cup down and stares at him intently, so much that he is forced to look away. "It doesn't make sense, does it? That's what's been bothering you?"

Hits right into his heart. "It's how - It's how he acted after he showed me the Mark. I don't get it," he says, uses words he learned from Dean, instead of the formal ones his mother inclined him to say. "Either he's really good at acting, or -"

Anna waits patiently for him to gather his thoughts. He releases a shaky breath, holds the coffee cup without sipping from it.

"Cain holders can be very deceiving," she says. "I've known Dean since he came to this island, and even _I _don't think he could be that good of an actor. But, the Mark of Cain makes me rethink things."

"What do you mean?" he asks, interested.

"There was something about him right when he started working in the Roadhouse with Ellen," she says, her brows furrowed. "He would turn angry for no apparent reason, sometimes he'd ignore everyone in his way. He slept with countless women for the first three months. Doesn't seem like the Dean I know right now."

Castiel settles against his seat, rethinks everything he's ever known about Dean. No parents. God knows how many jobs. Hasn't finished high-school. Brother and Bobby (still a touchy feeling on Castiel's part, he hasn't called and asked if the whole rising-from-the-dead thing had been his imagination or not) are the only family he's got, unless you count Ellen, Jo and Charlie. Dean loves classical rock, classical cars and he does air-guitar when no one's watching. He over-pours beer occasionally. He doesn't know how to make a proper tequila shot, no matter how easy it is. Dean has three freckles on his chest, and a million of them on his shoulders. Dean loves it when Castiel kisses the two dots on his back, right where the back meets the butt.

Castiel leers into dangerous territory, so he goes back to watching Anna fiddle with the cup.

"I am not sure what happened, Castiel," Anna says. "And I will not ask you to tell me your part of the story unless you really want to. But the only advice I will give you, is to speak to Dean's brother. He seems to be the only person Dean trusts more than himself."

Castiel nods absent-mindedly, holds the cup of coffee to his lips, considers drinking it, but at the last minute changes his mind and leaves it be.

Later, he sits in his own room, stares at the name SAM on his phone, then presses CALL.

"Cas?" Sam answers after two beeps. "Oh my god, Cas, it's you."

Castiel stays silent for a few seconds. "Yeah, it's me."

He hears Sam tell someone that's he's going to be on the phone for a while, and then Sam goes back to talking to him, "We haven't heard from you in six days, I was worried you'd left the island entirely."

"Don't be ridiculous," Castiel says, and it's a little too close to home. "I still have two weeks until my return ticket."

This time, Sam pauses for a while. "Dean's been asking about you."

And if that doesn't strike an arrow straight through Castiel's lungs. "He has?"

"It's," Sam says, and then breathes in, blows the air out through his mouth. "It's kind of horrible. If he's talking about you, means he's lucid."

"Is he, uh," Castiel has to bring himself to ask. "Is he alright?"

"Kind of. But, there's a ton of things - You know what? Can we meet up somewhere?" Sam asks.

Castiel doesn't want to, but he needs answers. Just like Anna said, Sam's the only person Dean trusts to death. "Alright. Where?"

They decide to meet up at Genevi Cafe in ten minutes.

Castiel gets there first, orders two coffees that he doesn't even touch, and Sam enters right as Castiel gathers enough strength to want to leave.

Sam thanks for the coffee, and all Castiel can notice is how hollow Sam's eyes are, how he's probably not been sleeping at all, and how his fingers tremble against the cup.

"Are you okay?" Castiel asks.

Sam shoots him a tired smile. "I'm actually better than before," he says. "It's getting better."

They sit in silence for what seems to be hours, when Sam brushes his too-long hair back, leans in, puts his elbows on the little table.

"There's a lot of back-story to Dean," Sam finally says. "I know, you're the last person on Earth to want to hear this, but please, _please_ hear me out. For the sake of you."

Castiel swallows a lump in his throat, then nods hesitantly.

It looks like Sam breathes easier then. "Dean felt his gift surfacing when he was your age. You're 27 now, right?"

"Yes," Castiel says.

"Right, well, his gift appeared to be stronger than anything the Mark sealers saw in our state, so the government assigned him a sealer that's the only one who could tame Dean's gift, and it happened to be the only retired one in the whole state of Texas. Hell, the guy was almost 90 years _old_, and even though Dean felt the danger, he couldn't decline authority."

"Then why didn't the government assign a sealer for me?" Castiel asks, confused.

Sam furrows his brows, but not mockingly. "It's because you're a Novak. I mean, angels are pretty much royalty, so the government doesn't have a say in who does your seals. Us, normal people, we have to go through a process of law enforcement, and other ridiculously stupid regulations. Dean got his after three months of negotiations."

Castiel didn't know any of this. But no wonder, knowing that his mother is the most powerful woman among angels. She hasn't really talked about Marked people around him.

"He would've chosen someone else if he had the money," Sam explains. "It's just that at the time, Dean worked three jobs to save up for my studies," Sam blushes deeply. "It's free if the authority chooses for you. Therefore, Dean had to ask for a small ass tattoo, which happened to be the one on his chest, I'm sure you've seen it."

Castiel nods.

"The reason why it's unfinished is kind of clear, really," Sam continues. "The old man died the day Dean sat down on the chair, and they needed to finish just that one single outline, but it happened so fast Dean was caught by surprise. The man fell, just like that. Heart attack or whatever. Dean ended up being unfinished."

"Then why did he finish it?" Castiel says quietly.

Sam huffs out a breath, tightens the grip on his coffee cup. "Cas, Dean's Mark was supposed to be _resurrection from the dead_. Dean was ready to give it up so he could go back to working for my studies, but then uh," Sam stops. Calms down. Sips coffee. "I managed to accidentally crash a car into a bus and I fell into a deep coma."

Castiel's world stops to a dead end.

Sam continues to stare at this one spot on the table. "Dean didn't know what to do. He paid for all of the hospital expenses, but they told him I'd die in a day or even less. He freaked out, gathered all of the money he had left, went to the black market and finished his tattoo."

Castiel doesn't know what to think anymore. "What then?" he asks.

"The person who finished his tattoo thought he was insane, naturally. But who wouldn't finish a tattoo for the right amount of money, right? Dean talked pretty vaguely about the whole experience, it's just that he said he was sober from the moment the Mark appeared on his arm, and only when he came to the hospital and found out that I was dead, tried resurrecting me, he turned rogue. Not that he wasn't successful." Sam then points comically at himself.

Castiel's jaw is open wide. "He finished the tattoo to help _you_? How did he even know it would work?"

Sam smiles. "He didn't. It's how Dean's mind works. He cannot physically survive alone in this world."

"But isn't the Mark of Cain the reason why Cain was alone for the rest of his life?" Castiel asks. "Dean risked everything to resurrect you, how come he isn't a recluse as the other Cain holders?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you at the hospital," Sam says cautiously. "Dean isn't your normal Cain holder. He's Dean."

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Dean. He's the same Dean from before. Just like always."

"That's impossible," Castiel says, his heart betraying him with a shining light of hope dashing through his bloodstream.

"That's what I said," Sam says. "Dean was absolutely _crazy _after I came back to life. He nearly killed three people in the hospital with his bare hands, not to mention all of the equipment he destroyed after his eyes turned black. I had to go through several law bills to get him out of jail afterwards. Actually, when I came to get him, he was back to normal. Didn't trust him at first, not until he started watching Dr. Sexy again. According to history, none of the Cain holders ever look interested in anything, but Dean's Dr. Sexy obsession couldn't have been faked, Dean's never been a good actor. Eventually, he resurrected three more people, Bobby counted in. It's just that the last time, he resurrected this little girl, and nearly killed himself in the process."

"So he becomes like this every time he even attempts saving someone," Castiel says.

"Generally, yeah. I made him promise not to try resurrecting anyone ever again. Guess he broke the promise by saving Bobby."

Castiel's head pumps with migraine, and he wants so badly to just go home, lay down and forget about Dean for a second, but this breathing, living hope inside of him wants to run to Dean, to cling to him and chase the bad things away. "How is Bobby?"

Sam sighs. "He's alright. No sign of cancer left. He's the one who keeps an eye on Dean now. Ellen's feeding everyone, and Jo is keeping tabs on the bar. We're all okay, but everyone's worried about you. Mainly about your reaction."

"I did have a reason to react that way," Castiel says.

"I know," Sam says. "I know, we all went through the same thing. But seeing Dean so happy with you, for the first time in his life he wasn't afraid of falling for someone as hard as he did made us all so unbelievably relieved that he's living a normal life, and then life had to shit on everything by letting you find out about the Mark."

"He should've told me from the beginning," Castiel murmurs.

"Would you have believed him?" Sam suddenly asks.

It makes Castiel think.

Then rethink.

Then, he finishes his coffee, sets it down, and looks Sam directly into the eye. "I want to see Dean."

Sam stands up, and leads the way without another word.

Castiel sits with his back to the room where Dean's locked up in, and thankfully, Sam and Bobby decided to give him time to adjust to this situation by leaving him alone next to the door. He's not allowed inside, naturally, but Dean already knows he's here, and he can't just run away now that he's feeling hope crawling up his chest.

He musters all of the strength he has, remembers how _brave _he felt the first time he kissed Dean, and he prays he can be as brave now.

"Dean," he says out loud.

It takes some time for Dean to answer, and Castiel has to wait with eyes wide open to hear even a syllable from the person he loves. "Castiel?" Dean mumbles against the door, just enough for Castiel to hear. The lack of a nickname stings Castiel's chest. "Is that you?"

Castiel stays silent for a minute, then breathes in deeply before answering. "Yes, it's me," he says.

Dean doesn't correct him.

Castiel hears Dean slumping against the door, and now they're on both sides of the door, waiting for the other to speak.

"I'm sorry," Dean says all of a sudden. Castiel's fingers curl into fists and he's fighting the urge to scream from fear. "I'm so sorry."

"Dean," Castiel says.

But Dean doesn't answer him at all. He keeps mumbling Castiel's name, keeps apologizing, and when it gets too much, Castiel stands up, and walks away from the room. He looks for Sam, finds him in the kitchen with Bobby, and stands there, in the doorway.

"Sorry I didn't warn you," Sam says. Castiel's tired of hearing the word sorry.

"It's that bad?" Castiel asks.

Sam and Bobby lower their eyes in shame.

Castiel bites his lip, clears his throat. Puts his hands in his pockets. "How long will it take for him to go back to his old self?"

Bobby shares a look with Sam. "No way of saying. It can take days, it can take months. Even years. We're not sure -"

"When can I visit him again?" Castiel interrupts.

Sam's eyes light up with that puppy eye look again, and it's as if everything's back to normal, but Castiel can still hear Dean apologizing in his head. "Whenever. We're taking shifts of watching the door."

Castiel nods, and leaves the house.

From then on, Castiel visits every day. He doesn't call Mother back, misses his flight, and breaks the lease on his own apartment, instead moving into Dean's, which Ellen gladly helps to arrange.

Sometimes, he tries talking over Dean's rapid apologizing and repeating of his name, and sometimes, Dean listens. Most of the time, Castiel just hears pacing or something crashing on the floor, but usually, it's silent on the other side of the door. Sam joins him from time to time, brings a bottle of beer, or sandwiches, of which Castiel is really grateful. He doesn't eat regularly anymore, and Ellen let him take time off of work, begging him to stay away from the Roadhouse and keep visiting Dean. Even Bobby says that Dean's clearly better than the last time.

Then, they start letting Castiel _inside _of the room.

The first time it happens, Castiel nearly faints when he sees that Dean's still holding his gaze with those black eyes, but somehow, his face features are becoming more familiar, more warm. Dean's chained to the bed, but he doesn't move when Castiel comes inside. He doesn't speak, even. He just stares.

At first, Castiel doesn't stare back, but in a few more times, he starts looking back and starts noticing that every day, the black tar of Dean's eyes keeps getting more transparent.

Castiel's visiting Anna more, now. They're having entire conversations about life, and for some reason, Castiel thinks that this is the impact of the island, them getting close again. Or, maybe, just maybe, it's because Anna thinks that the coolest thing Castiel has ever done is finishing the Seal before his time. Well, at least it shows in the way how Anna's hallway now is one more picture richer, and the one is bigger than any other. It's the unfinished looking piece on Castiel's back, the one that looks like it belongs to a fallen angel.

But, with Dean's eyes becoming more like Dean's eyes, Castiel doesn't feel like a fallen angel. Instead, he's falling _up_.

One day, Dean blinks, smiles crookedly and says, "I still have to teach you all about pop culture references."

Because of that, Castiel feels brave enough to stand up and sit nearer to Dean.

"How do you feel?" Castiel asks Dean for the hundredth time. They're sitting inches away, and their knees are bumping together, but Dean doesn't move away. He doesn't lash out, either.

Dean's eyes are focused entirely on Castiel. The black is still there, but Castiel swears he can see the green shining through. "I'm sorry," Dean repeats again, but it doesn't hold the same cold feeling to it anymore. It almost feels like it's _Dean _who is saying it, not the Mark.

"Do you feel anything at all?" Castiel attempts again.

"Cas," Dean says.

The nickname.

Castiel's insides burst with pure joy, but he doesn't show it. He just stares back at Dean, and Dean stares at him.

"Do you feel it?" Castiel asks once more, this time, with Dean's hand on Castiel's heart. Dean's not looking at Castiel's eyes anymore, instead focused on the hand that is currently feeling the rapid beating of Castiel's heart.

Dean doesn't answer anything for an entirety of three seconds. "Yes," he says. Then, lifts his eyes, cocks his head to the left in that same playful way he used to, only some of the gray transparency left around his green pupils. "Will you come back tomorrow?"

Castiel nods, and tries turning away to hide the tears that are gathering at alarming speed. Dean quickly lifts his hand, stops Castiel from turning and wipes the tears away.

The thing about the sea, Castiel thinks, it's that even if it has to face the obstacle, it will work its way around it, all while Dean goes _through _it. In a way, Dean's stronger than the sea.

Castiel's sitting next to Dean, and their shoulders are touching. Dean rubs circles into Castiel's hand with his fingers.

"I've been meaning to ask," Dean says suddenly and it's the first time he said so many words in a sentence. "Will you add color to your Seal?"

Castiel smiles, and lifts Dean's hand to kiss it. Dean follows every move with his unclouded eyes. "It's impossible," he explains, and if Dean was Dean, he would know this simple fact. "Anna's finished it."

"Oh," Dean says and Castiel feels him leaning in.

It should scare him. It should scare the _shit _out of him, but when he feels Dean's lips on his, the world stops spinning, and everything is alright, no matter how much it hurt for it to get better.

Dean's busy in the kitchen of his own home, when Castiel calls his mother.

"Castiel!" she screams into the phone, and Castiel has to hold the phone away from his ear. "Where the hell have you been?! It's been a month and a half, you haven't answered any of my calls, if not for Anna, I wouldn't have known that you're even alive! Explain yourself!"

Castiel twiddles with the buttons of the remote for the TV. Dean plops down next to him with a bowl of popcorn. He mouths 'mother?' and Castiel nods.

"I've been dealing with a lot of things, Mother," Castiel says. She starts shouting again, but Castiel interrupts her, "Calm down. I'm sure Anna's told you that the Seal is finished."

"Of course she told me, why wouldn't she have? I can't believe you risked your _life_ to finish a Seal, and it's not even _powerful_ enough now -"

"I don't care if it's powerful," Castiel says angrily. Dean wraps his arm around his shoulder. "I do not even care if it's the right thing to do, but if I haven't done it, Dean wouldn't have survived."

"Who is this Dean you have been talking about all the time? Anna-"

"Dean is my _lover_," Castiel finally admits the truth. And, to be honest, it feels damn good.

Dean kisses his temple. "Your what?" Naomi sounds scandalized. "You're _homosexual_?"

Dean grabs the phone from Castiel's hand and puts it against his ear.

"Look, lady, since Castiel's _clearly_ not suitable for working in your fancy ass hospital, he's staying here in Kripke with _me_, Dean Winchester, yours truly. I don't care much about the Novak family, but I seem to love your son too much for anyone's liking, and it's this fact alone that makes me believe that he's happier here than he ever was in the US. Suck it up, nerd, Castiel's staying here for good."

"You called my mother a nerd?" Castiel asks, his eyes wide.

Dean shoots him a glare. Then goes back to talking, apparently, to Castiel's mother screaming into the phone. "Yeah, yeah, get over it, Castiel's a _faggot_, boohoo. Now that that's settled, let us fucking watch a movie I've been dying to see. Good bye!"

Then, he switches off the phone, throws it somewhere on the table, and turns to Castiel, who has never felt more love than he does now.

"Was I good at handling the situation?" he asks.

Castiel stares into those green grass eyes, thinks to himself that he could never have chosen a better person to love, and nods before kissing the life out Dean, instead of answering the obvious.

It's the first day Dean's been allowed to go back home, and he was kind of surprised that Castiel moved in without notifying him. He immediately demanded that they slept in the same bed together, and Castiel said yes without hesitation.

Now, Castiel's cocooned next to Dean, they're watching Star Trek, and nothing's wrong in the world.

When they finish the last episode of the night, Dean kisses Castiel and looks at him with a serious face. "I meant every single 'sorry' I said," he says.

Castiel brushes his nose against Dean's, afraid of answering.

"Cas, I was a lunatic, my body wasn't reacting the way I wanted it to, but I kept forcing myself to sound more _human_," Dean says. "I haven't given up on you. I haven't turned you into an obstacle. I turned you into a beacon."

Castiel believes him. With all of his heart. "Dean Winchester," he says. "I love you. And I cannot find the words to tell you how sorry I am for believing you are a monster."

"Are? As in, now?" Dean asks cautiously.

Castiel kisses him. "You are," he says, absent-mindedly tracing the outlines of the Mark of Cain. "But you're my monster."

Dean wraps his arms around Castiel's waist and puts his chin on Castiel's shoulder, eyeing the now finished piece of art on the wall behind the Roadhouse.

The Lion looks crazy good in the sunlight, and the last of the paint dries while they're watching. Castiel puts his hands above Dean's, squeezing a little.

They're covered in paint again, but this time, it's the whole gang together.

Ellen tries wiping away the excess paint off of her blouse, at which Jo keeps hysterically laughing, because her Mother's never been the dirty type. Ash fell asleep on one of the bean chairs that they've left scattered around the area for customers tomorrow. Charlie's holding hands with Anna, of all people, who shines bright like a star underneath the blue sky.

"This is gonna be a bitch to take out before work," Ellen mumbles under her breath, to which Jo reacts by laughing out loud.

Castiel relaxes against Dean, and closes his eyes, for the first time not looking at the sky, or forward, but looking deep inside of himself.

He's changed, for the better, he thinks. The way of this island, the raw feeling of it has finally seeped through, and now he _feels_, and he feels a lot. He feels intensely happy because of a finished job that they started nearly nine months ago (which they could have finished in two to three days, but due to them being lazy and/or having other, better things to do, they haven't), he also feels absolutely terrified of the future. He feels all of these things, but above all, he loves Dean Winchester, and the hole in his heart is gone. No more dusty rooms that don't mean anything to him. No more mirrors that he has to trust that they'll tell him the truth if he looks at himself. No more of his family, who, thankfully, cut all of the ties with him, since he was the only one left without a Seal. No more of anything, but the island of Kripke, his new family consisting of different personality holders, his new job at the Kripke hospital and Dean Winchester, who is currently so tightly wrapped around him, that it's hard to breathe.

"What's our next art project?" Dean asks silently, so that only Castiel can hear.

Castiel smiles, looks up and breathes in.

"Life," he answers. Feels Dean's lips against his neck. "And maybe the sea."


End file.
